When The Music Fades
by Little Miss Bump
Summary: There's no such thing as 'peace and quiet' when you're a Thunderbird. When a dangerous rescue mission goes horribly wrong, will any of the boys escape unscathed? And when Virgil's injuries turn critical, who will be there to look after him?
1. Chapter 1: Frustrations and Fluctuations

**_Hello again! _**

**_This chapter marks the beginning of my fourth Thunderbirds story! Yippee!_**

**Standard Disclaimer:The Thunderbirds belong to Gerry Anderson, who is one of the greatest men in existence. He not only provided us with 32 fantastic episodes, but also with two excellent movies. And the 2004 movie doesn't belong to me, either. Have you got the point yet? I do not own the Thunderbirds! Never have, never will. **

**_Okay, as a note for those of you who don't know, this story is a 'sort of' sequel to my very first fic - 'Smothered By Your Brothers'. If you have not yet read it, do not fear. There is no real need for you to have done so in order to understand this story. But if you want to read it, feel free. I'm not stopping you! (Why would I? That would be stupid!)_**

**_A big thanks to everyone who has expressed an interest in reading my stories. It's you guys who catalyse my creativity._**

**_So kick back, relax...and enjoy!_**

* * *

John Tracy smiled as he leaned against wall of Thunderbird 5's view-port, staring out into space through the large, clear panel beside him. The stars shone brightly in the vast expanse of inky darkness, the constellations as familiar to John as the letters of the alphabet. He loved space. He loved all that power and beauty contained within an infinite number of solar systems. He loved the way that everything moved in perfect order, like the intricate pieces of a clock. And the universe sure was _one_ _big_ clock.

Raising his mug of coffee to his lips, John took a long sip of the bitter liquid and sighed. He had been back on-board the station for over two weeks now, after having been forced to spend months away from the cosmos whilst Thunderbird 5 was being repaired. Although he had missed seeing the beautiful starry view out of the window, and relaxing in the peaceful solitude he experienced during his monthly rotations, he had enjoyed himself immensely spending quality time on the island with his brothers. After the whole 'Hood incident' during Spring break, he and his siblings had spent the majority of John's recovery-time developing stronger relationships with each other. In particular, with the youngest family member, Alan. The teenager had been forced to face his greatest fears as he battled to save his family and friends from the Hood's evil clutches, and had nearly gotten himself killed in the process. It had been a traumatic experience for the whole family.

John shuddered as vivid images flashed across his mind's eye, remembering how much worse things had seemed once the rest of the family had discovered what had truly happened between Alan and the Hood. _When Penelope swiped the security camera footage from the Bank of London and showed it to the guys - man, I think Scott actually stopped breathing when he saw it. And I got to view it for myself once I was allowed out of the infirmary. Seeing that monster tossing Alan about all over the place as if he were nothing more than a rag doll - I could hardly bear to watch it. But when the kid was dangling over the Mole like that, and I could see that he was losing his hold on the railing..._

John shuddered again, closing his eyes and shaking his head to get rid of the thoughts. Glancing out at the stars once more, he felt himself relax slightly. _But it's over now. The Hood's in jail, and he ain't getting out anytime soon. _

Swallowing down the last of his coffee, John made his way out of the large view-port section of the space station and down the short corridor, walking swiftly past his living quarters, the storage compartments and the kitchen as he approached the command deck. He was about to step up onto the raised area of the room so that he could check the global weather reports, when he stopped and looked down at the mug in his hand. Rolling his eyes at his own forgetfulness, he walked back towards the corridor and into the kitchen. After placing the mug in the automatic dishwasher, he opened one of the many cupboards that lined the walls and drummed the fingers of his other hand on the counter as his eyes skimmed over the packaged food-stuffs.

_Oh Onaha, you have no idea just how much I appreciate your cooking when I'm not stuck up here. _John sighed, grimacing as his eyes landed on the 'heat-and-eat' meals (or so Gordon had named them) that he was forced to live off during his rotations. Glancing down at his watch, he noticed that it had only been about four hours since breakfast. Deciding that it was still way too early to start lunch, he reached up and grabbed a bar of chocolate from his dwindling supply. Unwrapping the sweet brown blessing and taking a bite, John leaned against the counter and sighed, savouring the rich taste. Glancing back up at the small stack of bars that remained in the cupboard, he closed the door and rubbed the back of his neck, feeling slightly guilty.

_I'd better tell Dad that I've already eaten this month's supply of chocolate. In fact - yeah, I thought so. I've eaten next month's, too. But what on earth were they thinking, bringing up both boxes at the same time? How can they just expect me to leave all that chocolate alone if it's sitting there every day, mocking me? Well, maybe they'll forget that I had two months' worth during this rotation. Scott will never let me live it down if he finds out. Anyway, I'd better add 'chocolate' to the list of supplies that Gordon needs to bring with him when he comes up on Friday to replace me. Gordon already loathes my 'bird, but leaving him stranded on Thunderbird 5 without candy? I don't think he'd last more than a couple of days._

Suddenly, the lights around the small kitchen dimmed, and the steady thrum of the station's generators dropped down a tone. John's head shot up, a slight frown playing across his face.

"What the...?"

He didn't have time to think over the possible explanations for this sudden change as, without warning, he began to feel a familiar and uncomfortable sensation enveloping the whole of his body. Throwing the chocolate bar onto the counter, he watched as it hit the surface with a dull '_thunk_', before bouncing off and traveling in the opposite direction, it's progress slow and steady, as if time had been slowed down dramatically. John tried - and failed - to keep his feet on the floor as his body began to float upwards. Taken completely by surprise, his left arm flew out blindly in search of something to grab onto. He yelped loudly as his wrist connected solidly with the bottom corner of the cupboard. He hissed in pain, withdrawing the arm quickly and clutching at the counter with his right hand.

"Aaw, crap," John grumbled, slipping into his usual habit of talking to himself. "I thought the gravitational controls were connected to the new generator? This isn't supposed to happen."

He sucked in another sharp breath as his left arm throbbed painfully. Glancing down at it, he eyed the sore area, sighing in annoyance as he noticed the cracked watch-face. It became apparent that the corner of the cupboard had smashed directly into it. But knowing Brains' inventions, the actual communicator would probably still be functioning perfectly.

_Then again, Thunderbird 5's new gravitational control system was also Brains' invention, and right now it seems to be completely on the fritz. _

Carefully pushing himself away from the counter and towards the door, John made his way slowly out of the kitchen and down the corridor, eyeing the dimmed lights with a certain degree of annoyance. Clutching onto one of the rails that lined the right hand wall of the corridor, he paused long enough to review the situation. The dimmed lights and zero-gravity were an indication that there was probably a fault in the primary generator that powered the secondary systems. During the repairs, Brains had installed a new generator that had the ability to adapt and vary its power supply when needed. In other words, things such as lighting, gravity and temperature would be automatically controlled so that the station would always remain at optimum living conditions.

_'Thank God the oxygen recycling system is controlled by the mainframe generator,' _John mused wryly, using the rail to pull himself along the wall towards the control room. He would run a diagnostic scan on the main computer. If he knew what was causing the problem, he'd probably be able to fix it without Brains' help.

Then, as suddenly as the lights had dimmed, they flared to full intensity once again. The thrum of the engines jumped up an octave, and John found himself sinking back towards the ground. However, his descent was rather faster than he had anticipated. Landing on his knees rather painfully, he held onto the rail for support and shook his head against the sudden change in height. Strengthening his hold, he pulled himself slowly to his feet and began to walk towards the control deck once again. However, before he had made it even halfway to his chair, he felt a heavy weight settling on his limbs. Frowning he took another laboured step, his leg feeling as though it were ploughing through water, not air. Everything felt weighed down, as though he were wearing a particularly heavy space suit.

"What in the world-?" John began, but was cut off when the lights dimmed once again.

"Darn it!" he moaned, as his body began to rise upwards as it had done before. Unfortunately, having been standing in a rather tensed position with his weight centred firmly beneath his feet before the zero-gravity had kicked in, his ascent in the upwards direction was a little faster than it ought to have been. Consequently, he was forced to throw his hand above his head in order to prevent himself from cracking his skull against the ceiling. This action, however, merely caused him to spin off towards his left - which then swiftly became his _right_ as his body did a one-eighty and he went upside-down.

"Oh, for Pete's sake!" John cried in frustration as he by-passed his chair, his outstretched hands missing the metallic back-rest by a few feet as he floated off towards the other side of the room.

_What on earth is going on here? If I didn't know better, I'd be expecting Gordon to pop out of the hatch yelling 'Hah! Gotcha this time!'. But these fluctuations are totally erratic. The generator controls must be bust._

Grabbing hold of a rivet on the wall, he positioned his body so that it was faced in the direction of the main control panel. Taking a deep breath, he pushed off the wall with his feet - very gently, mind you, as he knew perfectly well that his momentum would remain constant the whole way. The last thing he wanted to do was knock himself out on the opposite wall. Thankfully, his aim had been spot-on, and he found himself drifting right by his command chair. Grabbing onto it tightly, he winced as the hard corners dug into the skin of his palms. Grunting loudly, he took a moment to regain his composure, wishing that he had remembered to put his gloves back on after getting his coffee earlier on that morning.

Keeping one hand firmly on the back of the chair, he reached out towards the controls with his other, pressing the button that would send a signal directly to Tracy island. Switching hands, he grasped onto the chair with his right hand and flexed the fingers of his left. His wrist still ached from where it had collided with the cupboard, but he knew it was nothing more than a bruise. Once he'd worked out what was wrong and the problem had been fixed, he would grab an ice-pack.

_'What's taking so long?'_ John thought impatiently as he fought to keep his legs from floating upwards above his head. _'All Dad has to do is reach forward and flick a switch. It's not that strenuous!'_

Then John realised that his father probably wasn't in his office at the present moment. Today was Tuesday, and an old friend of the Tracy family's, Thomas Palmar, was coming to visit them for a few days during his week off. The doctor had recently returned from Peru, where he had been helping to train the staff in the main-city hospital to use more advanced equipment. He had been there for almost a month now, but had finally finished the job and returned home.

_Tom had intended to fly over to the island yesterday, but Dad said that he'd had to make a trip to New York instead, so that he could submit his final status report about the teaching programme to the main medical planning facility in the city centre. Poor Tom. He hates paperwork. I bet those reports almost killed him. But it'll be good to see him again. The last time I saw him was during Spring break, when he and Andy came over to help with repairs. And to help look after us, for that matter. He'd never admit to it, but Andy's just as paranoid about us getting hurt as Scott is._

John managed a small smile as he thought about the young doctor. Andrew Myers was the chief of medical staff at Boston Airbase. The very same airbase where Scott had taken his Air-Force training several years earlier. Actually, Andy was half the reason why Scott had been allowed to train during his college years. With Andy's help, Scott had taken an out-of-school preliminary advanced flying exam, which had then allowed him to apply for a position at the Boston training base. He and Andy had always been close, but this had solidified their friendship. In a way, Scott was the younger brother that Andy had never had. And Scott was quite happy to have an 'older brother' for once in his life. Since then, the two of them had remained close, contacting each other weekly, much like Jeff and Thomas had continued to do after their time on the NASA space station. In short, Andy was practically a member of the family.

Suddenly, John's limbs felt exceedingly heavy once again. Without warning, he dropped to the floor with a loud '_thunk'_, groaning as the wind was knocked out of him. _Great. Not only is the gravity fluctuating, but it's going from one extreme to the other in a split second. This feels like double the force of earth's gravity. And man, why is it so darn hot in here?!_

Dragging himself up off the floor, fighting against the heavy weights that seemed to be trying to pull him back down again, John gripped the edge of the control panel and peered at the station's diagnostic readings. Judging by the fact that it was apparently ten degrees hotter than it had been before, John put two and two together and groaned at the knowledge that the temperature controls were also on the fritz. This meant one thing. With gravity, lights and temp going crazy, the generator that powered the secondary systems must have short-circuited. Either that, or this was one _weird_ dream. However, the dull ache in John's left arm reminded him that he was most definitely awake, so that ruled out option two.

"C'mon, Dad," he murmured impatiently, trying his best not to let his knees buckle as his heavy legs began to ache.

Glancing over at the diagnostic readings, and noticing that the temperature was still rising, John swore and wiped the back of his hand over his sweaty forehead. For a moment, he considered pressing the emergency button; the one that would set off the 'panic-stations' alarm back on the island. But then common sense kicked in and he shook his head at his own foolishness. Not only would the emergency signal send the entire of Tracy island into a total state of chaos, but it would also be pointless. His predicament wasn't actually dangerous. Yes, it could become very hot or very cold at any moment, but the station's main systems had been designed in such a way that it would not be possible for the temperature to reach a dangerous level - at least, not unless the whole system shut down. But by that time, John would probably be dead anyway.

_Wow, I'm morbid today. I'm supposed to be happy, it's a Tuesday today. The day that I call Alan so that he can update me on Tracy life - and warn me about any incoming pranks. Ah, he's a great kid. Even after everything that's happened to him over the past few months, he still manages to stay positive. Well - to a certain extent. It's been just over four weeks since he came down with Scarlet Fever, and I think he's starting to get annoyed at Scott and Virgil's constant worrying. And, although I do sympathise with the Sprout, I also have to admit that I'd be doing the same thing as the other guys if I were down there right now. I mean, he almost died! That night - that horrible night - we came so close to losing him. I still thank God every chance I get that he was spared, because I can't begin to express how grateful I am that he survived. I think Scott and Virge will be flapping over him until he goes back to school. Poor kid._

The lights dimmed dramatically, and John slammed his fist against the metal panel in frustration.

"Not again!"

He felt his feet rising up off the floor. Keeping his fingers latched onto the edge of the control panel, he mentally urged his father to hurry up and reply to the signal. He didn't understand why it was taking him _this _long. After all, there were tele-comms in every room. If Jeff wasn't in his office, he could answer the call in another room. Either that or one of the other guys could answer it. But _no_! They had to leave him floating around the space station like a stuffed duck! Furthermore, he was a stuffed _roasting_ duck, which only made it ten times worse.

_Oh boy....I think I'm gonna hurl. I've always had a strong stomach, but all these gravity fluctuations are really starting to get to me. C'mon, guys, pick up! I need to talk to Brains so that he can tell me what to do! Then maybe I'll be able to- Whoa!_

John dropped back down like a sack of potatoes as the lights came back on again, hitting the floor heavily on his front. Man, he hated this new double-gravity setting that the controls had landed him with. However annoying zero-G was, it was nothing compared to feeling like you were lying on the floor in a four-inch-thick lead suit, unable to stand up properly because your own body was too heavy for you to support.

Suddenly, his father's voice filtered through the speakers above him, cutting through the gentle, mocking thrum of the generators.

"Hey, John. Sorry about that, I was-" the voice began, before stopping abruptly. "John?"

John grimaced. _Bad timing. Really bad timing. Alright, let's try sitting up first. _

"Um - hold on, Dad!" he called out, his voice sounding slightly fatigued, even to his own ears. "M'down here! Just - just hold on a sec!"

Sighing in frustration, John began to push himself up onto his hands and knees, straining against the weight of his limbs. Reaching up a hand, he gripped the edge of the control panel once more and tried to pull himself up to that he was kneeling in front of the metal chair. Grunting and panting from the effort, he used his free hand to cover his mouth as he froze, his stomach lurching dangerously. Taking a deep breath in through his nose, he waited for a few seconds as he tried to calm his churning insides. When the nausea had passed, he opened his eyes and continued on his journey upwards, shaking his head grimly. Sighing, he reached up his other hand, pausing to review his situation once again.

Yup. It was just one of those days.

* * *

**_Poor John is having a few troubles, but what is causing them? And will he be able to fix them before he loses his breakfast? Furthermore, how are the rest of his family fairing on Tracy island? Are Scott and Virgil still fussing over their youngest sibling? Naturally. But will the arrival of Thomas Palmar change this? Find out on Saturday!_**

**_Thank you for reading! PLEASE REVIEW and tell me what you think of it so far. _**

**_Have a great week! _**

**_Little Miss Bump xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox_**


	2. Chapter 2: Calling For Help

**_Hey everybody!_**

**_Oh. My. Gosh. I was absolutely astounded at the number of people who reviewed my first chapter! I mean, I was only away for a few days, and I come home to find all these lovely messages in my inbox! It made me happy. Very happy indeed. Thanks for all the great comments!_**

**_Now please, read on and enjoy!_**

* * *

"Alan!"

The blond-haired teenager looked up from his book as he heard his name being called, the sound drifting out through the double doors to the villa, faint and far off but clear enough to understand. Glancing down at his watch, Alan sighed. It was _that_ time of day again. Swinging his legs over the side of the sun-lounger, he marked his page in the book and set it down on the small table beside him.

"Alan!" the voice called again.

"Out here, Virge!" Alan yelled back. He looked up towards the steps as Virgil emerged from the villa, a small box in one hand.

"Hey, Sprout," the older Tracy grinned, jogging down the staircase and towards where Alan currently sat. The young teenager automatically moved further down the sun-lounger so that he sat closer to the bottom end, giving Virgil enough room to sit on his left hand side.

Virgil plopped down beside his younger brother, placing the box on his lap and opening the clasps. "Whatcha reading?" he inquired, indicating the book with a nod of his head.

"It's a sci-fi novel that John recommended," Alan replied. "It was written years ago; when Dad was still a teenager, I think."

"Oh. It's practically an antique, then," Virgil smiled, taking out an antiseptic wipe and pushing up the sleeve of Alan's T-shirt so that he could wipe at an area of skin on his upper-arm.

"Don't let Dad hear you say that," Alan warned. "He has this new theory, you see. Since his entire generation have life a life expectancy of one-hundred years and over, he says that he's technically not even middle-aged yet."

Virgil snorted in amusement, reaching into the box to retrieve a hypodermic needle and a small bottle of light-yellow liquid. "Dad's never gonna admit to being old, Sprout. Not even when his hair's as white as snow and he's leaning on a knarled stick."

Alan smiled and shook his head. "You have a warped view of elderly folk, Virge."

The older Tracy chuckled, ripping turning the bottle upside down and giving it a light shake. Alan sighed and drummed his fingers against his knees, trying to distract himself as his eyes drifting over to where Gordon and Scott were playing in the pool. Gordon seemed to be intent upon drowning his eldest brother and was at present trying to avoid being strangled by a rather angry and irate ex-Air Force pilot. Scott dunked Gordon under the water forcefully, before glancing up and ctaching Alan's gaze. He smiled, swimming over to the edge of the pool.

"Hey Sprout," he said cheerfully. "You wanna join us?"

Then he noticed the syringe - the one Virgil was now filling with the light-yellow liquid - and frowned worriedly. "You feeling okay?"

"They're just my antibiotics, Scott," Alan assured him. "Although why I can't take pills like _normal _people, I don't know."

Virgil didn't even look up from his work as he replied, "Because this is an antibiotic cocktail, kiddo. You'd need to take at least seven different kinds of medication by mouth if you weren't having these shots. And besides, you'd need to take those twice a day, whereas you only need one shot every morning."

"Yeah, 'only'," Alan grumbled, although there was no real anger in his voice. "Personally, I think you just enjoy jabbing me with needles."

"Obviously." Virgil placed the small bottle back in the box and turned so that he faced his younger brother. "Now hold still."

"You know," Alan began lightly, as Virgil inched closer, "I'm tempted to wave my arms about just to see what happens."

Virgil paused, the needle centimetres away from Alan's arm. "Don't," he said firmly. "Unless you want me to sit on you while I give you the shot?"

Alan grinned and shook his head. "Nah, I think I can manage to stay still long enough. Although I can't make any promises."

Virgil frowned at him warningly, taking a light hold of his arm just in case, and carefully inserted the needle into the skin. Pushing down on the depressor, he injected the dose of antibiotics into Alan's body, before swiftly pulling the needle out and covering the tiny puncture wound with a cotton-wool ball. Taking Alan's hand, he pushed it over the white ball so that the teenager could hold it in place.

"Okay, all done," he said cheerfully, putting the cap back on the needle and dropping it into the box. He looked at Alan closely. "You alright?"

"No. Call Childline, I'm traumatized for life," Alan stated sarcastically, smiling and giving the older man a light shove. "Now stop being such a mother-hen and go worry over Gordon."

Virgil frowned questioningly. "Why do I need to worry over Gordon?"

"Because," Alan replied casually, reaching over to pick up his book, "he just bashed his head on the rail."

Both Scott and Virgil swiveled around to look at the copper-haired Tracy, who was clutching at the side of his head and grimacing slightly. When he noticed his brothers' eyes upon him, he quickly lowered his hand.

"I'm fine, it's nothing," he said hurriedly. But it was already too late.

Alan smiled to himself as his older brothers began fussing over his partner in crime. He knew Gordon would seek his revenge later on, but tha wouldn't be so bad. Anything to get back into the normal flow of things. Gordon had been so darn _careful_ around him lately, as though Alan were made of glass and would break at any moment. It was driving him crazy. Maybe this would persuade his older brother into fighting back.

Scooting back up the sun-lounger, the young teenager swung his legs back onto it again and opened his book where he had marked the page, sighing in content as the sound of splashing could be heard from the pool. There was a yell, then a particularly loud splash as Virgil was clearly yanked into the pool by his struggling copper-haired sibling. Alan chuckled to himself and shook his head, returning his attention to the page before him. He was about to begin reading again, when he noticed that his watch was flashing. Sitting up quickly, he dropped the book onto the table beside him.

"Guys!" he yelled, trying to be heard over the loud ruckus his brothers were making. They quietened down slightly and turned to look at him. He held up his arm and pointed to his watch. "John's calling. Dad's gone down to the hanger to meet Tom, so one of us is gonna have to answer it."

Scott glanced down at his own watch, brushing the water out of his eyes. "I'll get it," he said, swimming towards the edge of the pool and heaving himself out. He grabbed a towel to dry himself off, before jogging up the steps towards the house.

"I'd get dressed first, Scott!" Virgil called, looking up from where he had been studying the small bump on Gordon's head. "You know how much Dad hates it when we get water on the Dicouche leather!"

Scott nodded in agreement, before turning around and running through the doors, disappearing from sight. Alan frowned slightly, wondering what it was that John was calling about. It couldn't be a rescue call, since there was a specific type of signal that John sent on such an occasion. Nor was it an emergency signal, as that would've set off an alarm on Tracy Island. No, perhaps John was merely calling to check on the family. He had done that an awful lot in the past three weeks, usually to inquire as to how Alan was feeling. And, although Alan appreciated the fact that his brothers cared about him deeply and were merely concerned for his welfare, it _was_ becoming slightly annoying.

The problem was that, physically, he felt perfectly fine. In fact, if it weren't for the daily doses of antibiotics, Alan wouldn't have known that he had ever been sick. He had gained back all the weight that he had lost during the first week of his illness, and all of his symptoms had vanished, other than the occasional headache. But still Virgil and Scott refused to leave him alone. Even worse, he still wasn't officially 'on-duty' as a member of International Rescue. Although there hadn't actually _been_ a rescue call since before his illness, it still annoyed Alan that he wasn't part of the team. A call could come in a at any time, and he wouldn't be allowed to join his brothers on the mission.

Sometimes, he mused, life really sucked.

Sighing, Alan picked up his book and tried to forget about the injustice of the situation. His continuous complaints and desperate attempts to persuade his older brothers into leaving him alone had failed, so there was really nothing else he could do at present. The only option he had left was to wait. And to hope that Thomas Palmar would be able to persuade his family that he was well enough to take part in rescue missions once more.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Jeff stepped out of the elevator and into the aircraft hanger, smiling as the small private jet slowed to a halt on the other side of the room. After a few moments, the jet engines shut down and a short silence fell over the hanger, before there was a loud _'clang'_as the hatch door was pushed open. Jeff's face split into a huge grin as he saw his old friend swiftly descend the steps, his feet '_thunking'_ on the hard metal slabs.

"Hey, Jeff! Long time, no see, huh?" Thomas Palmar called, walking quickly towards where the Tracy patriarch was standing beside the elevator doors.

"Tom! Good to see you!" Jeff smiled, pulling his friend into a firm embrace and clapping him on the back. "For a while, I thought you weren't gonna make it."

Thomas snorted in amusement as he and Jeff headed back over to the jet to collect Thomas' luggage. "Jeff, you make it sound like I was dying," he chuckled, opening the luggage hold and climbing up inside. "And, however much I despise paperwork, the effect it has on me isn't _that_ dire."

"Really?" Jeff asked mildly. "You do surprise me."

Thomas frowned and threw a duffel bag at him. "I don't know why I put up with you," he grumbled. "All I ever do is help you, and what do I get? That darn sarcastic Tracy voice, that's what."

Jeff dropped the bag at his feet and reached up to take the case from Thomas' hands. "What 'sarcastic Tracy voice'?" he inquired, feigning innocence. "I'm never sarcastic."

"Oh no," the doctor replied, adopting as much of a sarcastic tone as was possible. "Not at all, Jeff. Why, you probably wouldn't know sarcasm even if it hit you in the face."

"Glad we agree on something," Jeff stated calmly. Then his lip twitched and he looked up, catching Thomas' eye, and both men chuckled together. Thomas jumped down from the hatch, a large med-kit slung over his shoulder, and shook his head.

"Oh, it's good to be back, Jeff," he sighed.

"Well, feel free to stay as long as you like. A week, a month, a couple of years," Jeff offered breezily, adjusting the strap of the bag over his shoulder as they walked back across the hanger. "I think Scott's managed to persuade Andy into taking some time off work so that he can spend a few days over here. I'm sure he'd be thrilled to see you again."

Thomas nodded in agreement as he and Jeff stepped into the elevator. "I haven't seen him since - well - not since Spring break, I guess," he admitted. "He had to go back to the airbase, and I was yanked off to plan the frontier programme in Peru. Speaking of which, did you get a chance to see those reports I sent you? Their industrial lines are really booming, Jeff, you should try and branch out over there. I think Sharpey's already planning on building a complex on the east coast. I saw a construction sign with the company logo on my way to the airport."

The Tracy patriarch shrugged. "I'll think about it. Business expansions haven't really been at the forefront of my mind in recent weeks."

Jeff pressed a sequence of buttons on the panel beside the door, and the elevator doors slid closed with a loud _'hiss'_. He set Thomas' duffel bag back down on the floor and stretched his stiff shoulder muscles.

"Tom, what on earth have you got in there?" he asked incredulously. "It weighs a ton!"

"Oh, you know, the usual," the other man replied. "Books, clothes, a couple of new scanner designs I want Brains to take a look at-"

"What? C'mon, Tom," Jeff whined, sounding far younger than his actual age. "This is supposed to be a holiday. You need to _relax_. Can't you even refrain from working for a few days?"

Thomas raised an eyebrow at Jeff's complaining tone, picking up his case as the elevator doors slid open, revealing Jeff's spacious office. "And what are you going to do if I refuse?" he grinned. "Throw a temper tantrum? Go and sulk in one of the Thunderbird silos?"

Jeff pushed him out of the elevator, smiling, and bent down to heave the duffel bag over his shoulder once more. "You're even worse than the boys."

"Thanks," the doctor said lightly. "I do try."

"Tom!"

Both men turned towards the cry, and spotted Scott standing in the doorway to Jeff's office. The pilot grinned, striding towards the older man and allowing himself to be pulled into a crushing embrace.

"Hey, kiddo," Thomas beamed. "Good to see you."

Scott grunted. "You too, Tom," he gasped. "But - um - I kinda need to breathe here."

Thomas tightened his hold. "Breathe? Nah. Believe me, breathing is so overrated."

Jeff laughed as Scott managed to break free from the older man's strong hold, smiling and massaging his ribs. Thomas grasped his arms and looked him up and down for a long moment.

"Well," he began. "I see you've managed to keep yourself in one piece. Congratulations. And - aw, darn it....you haven't grown again, have you? That's just impossible!"

Laughing, Scott shook his head. "Nope, I stopped growing years ago," he replied. "You're just shrinking, that's all."

Before Thomas could protest this statement, Scott turned to look at his father. "Dad, John just sent us a signal from the station," he reported, all business. "I was about to answer the call when you guys stepped out of the elevator. You wanna get it?"

Jeff nodded, setting the duffel bag down on the floor of the office and stepping up to his desk. Sitting down in the chair, he pressed the button on the bottom of his vid-comm to receive the call.

"Hey, John," he called, looking over at Thomas and motioning for him to move up to the desk. As the other man came over to join him, he turned back towards the screen "Sorry about that, I was-"

He paused, frowning. The screen showed the usual view of Thunderbird 5's control room, with the numerous panels and screens in the background. However the metal chair - the one in which his second-eldest son usually sat - was empty.

"John?" he called again, wondering if perhaps the astronaut had simply left the room to fetch something whilst he was waiting for someone to answer the call. There was a slight pause, before John's voice filtered through the speakers.

"Um - hold on, Dad!" His voice sounded slightly muffled, but was clearly coming from somewhere within the control room. There was a soft '_thunk'_, and then an audible grunt. "M'down here. Just - just hold on a sec."

Jeff exchanged confused glances with Tom and Scott, who were standing on either side of him. They watched mutely as a hand emerged from beneath the camera on Thunderbird 5, gripping at the edge of the console. Jeff raised an eyebrow as John's other hand slammed down heavily beside it, the knuckles turning white as they clung to the plastic lip of the control-panel.

"John?" Scott called, confusion lining his voice. "What are you doing, exactly?"

One of the hands detached itself from the control panel long enough for John to hold up an index finger as a clear indication of the silent message _'one moment'. _There was another grunt, followed by a series of shuffling noises, before John's blond-haired head emerged from beneath the control panel. Jeff's heart began to beat quickly within his chest.

"John, what's wrong?" he demanded worriedly. John's skin was pale, and there were visible beads of sweat upon his brow. Two spots of pink shone out on his cheekbones as he supported his upper-body against the console, utterly exhausted.

"Dad, we - we have a problem," he panted, his voice sounding weak and fatigued.

"What sort of problem?" Jeff asked, leaning forwards in concern. "What's wrong?"

John didn't reply as his face paled considerably. His lips formed a thin line as he clamped his mouth shut, taking deep steadying breaths in through his nose. Jeff felt Scott inch closer to his side.

"John, you're sick," his eldest son stated. "We'll send Gordon up to relieve you."

John shook his head firmly, his face strained as he struggled to his feet. "Nope. Not sick," he managed, staggering as if carrying a heavy weight, and nearly toppling over again. Jeff's heartbeat increased it's tempo, and his chest tightened in parental concern for his second-eldest.

"John, take it easy," he instructed gently. "You're obviously unwell. Don't worry, Son, we'll have Three docked with you in just over an hour."

John shook his head again, regaining some of his colour. "You guys aren't listening to me!" he exclaimed in frustration. "I'm not sick, darn it! It's just that-"

Suddenly, the lights behind John dimmed, and the gentle thrum of engines seemed to drop down a tone. Before Jeff could work out what was going on, John's eyes widened in disbelief and horror.

"No! No, no, no, no!" he groaned, grabbing onto the back of his chair as his legs began to rise off the ground.

"What's happening?" Jeff asked worriedly, watching as John struggled to keep himself in view of the camera.

"What's happening?!" John repeated sarcastically. "I would've thought that was rather obvious, Dad! The darn gravity's fluctuating! It's been doing this for nearly ten minutes now!"

"But - why?" Scott asked, a frown tugging at his brow. John's eyes flashed angrily.

"How am I supposed to know?" he cried. "Would you care to enlighten me, oh mighty one?! Or perhaps you could do something useful for once, and go find somebody who knows how to fix it, before I puke my guts up all over the console!"

Jeff couldn't help bit smile slightly upon seeing his second-eldest's rare but fiery temper. He could understand why John was so frustrated. Space sickness on top of gravity fluctuations was never a pleasant experience. Raising his watch to his face, Jeff dialed in Brains' code.

"Brains?"

"Y-y-yes, Mr. Tracy?"

"There's a problem on-board the station," Jeff stated. "Could you come up to the office, please?"

"On my way," Brains replied, before the line was cut. Jeff lowered his arm and turned his attention back to the screen in front of him.

"Are you sure you're not sick?" he asked gently. "You look like you have a fever."

John shook his head, detaching one hand from the back of the chair so that he could wipe the beads of sweat from his forehead. "No, the temperature controls are on the fritz," he explained, his voice slightly constricted as he fount to keep the bile down. "It's like an oven in here!"

Jeff grimaced sympathetically. "Don't worry, Son. We'll work out what's causing the malfunctions. Just sit tight."

"Sit?" John said incredulously. "And how exactly am I supposed to sit in zero-G?"

"Oh, I'm sure you'll think of something," Thomas stated, smiling slightly. John's head darted towards the doctor, who - up until now - had remained silent.

"Tom!" the blond-haired astronaut exclaimed, cheering up slightly. "Hey, Doc. When did you arrive?"

Thomas looked down at his watch. "About seven minutes ago," he replied. "It was all a conspiracy, you see. I just wanted to get your Dad away from the office so that nobody would receive your call."

"Thank you. I feel so loved," John said sarcastically. He smiled at Thomas, who grinned back as though he had just won the lottery. John shook his head. "You know, from this angle you really do look like an excited five-year-old."

Thomas pretended to look shocked. "I do _not!_"

He turned to Scott and Jeff for support, but they both nodded their heads in agreement, smirking. Thomas punched Jeff on the arm and pouted moodily. "Why do I even bother coming here? Nobody likes me."

Jeff snorted in amusement and shook his head. "Glad to see that a month in Peru hasn't changed you at all, Tommy-boy."

"_Don't_ call me 'Tommy-boy'!" Thomas growled. "Unless you want us to start up that nickname phase we went through during the second rotation back in thirty-two? Because you know what sort of names I've got stored up in here just for you."

He tapped the side of his head with one finger, and Jeff blushed slightly. John's smile brightened even further.

"What sorta names?" he asked. "C'mon, Tom, tell us. You know you want to- Whoa!"

As the lights flared to full intensity, John's leg dropped to the floor with a loud _'flump'_, his upper body landing over the back of the metal chair. Scott, Thomas and Jeff all winced sympathetically as John grunted in pain.

"John? You okay?" Jeff ventured, after a few moments of silence.

"Mmm-hmm," came the muffled reply, as John struggled to his feet. He seemed to be having great difficulty in standing, and Jeff cocked his head to the side questioningly. Scott and Thomas also frowned at the way that John gripped onto the chair as he fought to keep his shaky legs from buckling. Looking up at the screen, John noticed their expressions and sighed.

"The gravity isn't only fluctuating in one direction," he explained. "It keeps going from one extreme to the other. According to the diagnostic I ran earlier, the gravitational force within the station is now almost double what it should be."

Thomas suddenly chuckled in amusement, and both Scott and John turned to look at him incredulously. The older man composed himself and pointed a finger to Jeff. "Your father and I once experienced something just like this. During our first six-month rotation, a random energy surge fried the secondary generator on-board the NASA space station. It took over three hours to fix, and we all had to practically crawl around until normal gravity was restored." He sighed, grinning. "That was the most fun I'd had in years."

John raised an eyebrow. "You found this _fun_?" he demanded. Thomas shrugged.

"Well, it was more amusing to watch your Daddy trying to climb a ladder up one of the conduits," he chuckled. "He was exhausted by the time he reached the top." Thomas began to laugh again. "And then - and then he realised that he'd forgotten to take his toolbox up with him, and he had to climb all the way back down again! Man, those were the days."

Scott tried to keep a straight face as Thomas roared with laughter, whilst Jeff turned a deep shade of pink and shot a moody glare towards his old friend. On the monitor, John sighed and shook his head, before paling significantly, his eyes going wide as he pressed a hand over his mouth. After a few deep breaths, he let his hand drop back down again, shaking his head sadly. Glancing back up towards the three men - who were watching him with great concern - he grimaced slightly and stated:

"I should never have eaten all that chocolate for breakfast."

* * *

**_Will Brains be able to determine what is causing these fluctuations? Will John last until help arrives? Will the problem be fixed? And how will this slight setback affect the rest of the Tracy family? Find out in the next chapter!_**

**_PLEASE REVIEW and tell me what you though of it. Concrit, flames, hate-mail, death-threats, all that jazz. _**

**_Have a nice day!_**


	3. Chapter 3: Dad to the Rescue

**_Hello again!_**

**_Wow, talk about how fast ti_****_me flies! I can't believe that it's Wednesday already! Oh, and thanks for all the great reviews you made, and I'm glad that you all seem to be enjoying this story (all two chapters of it). I hope this chapter does not disappoint! Now please, enjoy!_**

* * *

"Aw crap. I hate space."

Virgil gazed at his older brother in sympathy, knowing that John had to be feeling really rough to have made a statement such as this.

John grunted and readjusted his grip on the back of the metal chair, pulling himself closer to the camera. Suddenly, the young astronaut's face turned slightly grey, and he closed his eyes tightly as he tried to keep the bile down.

"Just breathe, John," Virgil coaxed soothingly. "Deep breaths, in and out. It'll help. Don't worry, Dad and Brains will be with you soon enough."

John just glared at him from the monitor, his face set in a grimace as he kept his mouth clamped tight shut, inhaling deeply through his nose as he attempted to ride out the waves of nausea.

"Virge, he's space sick, not in labour," Gordon muttered, as he stopped pacing back and forth behind the office chair and came to sit on the edge of their father's desk. "And I think he knows how to breathe, you don't need to give him detailed instructions."

"Back off, Gordon," Scott warned quietly, his gaze fixed on the monitor before him as his eyes studied the pale face of his younger brother up on-board Thunderbird 5.

"Yes, _sir,_" Gordon retorted sarcastically, his worry giving way to anger as it often did when he was unable to be of use in a situation.

Alan, who was perched on the edge of the desk beside Gordon, whacked him on the arm in annoyance, the concern for his older blond brother showing up clearly on his face. Gordon was about to retaliate, when he noticed Scott's expression. The eldest Tracy son had swiveled around in the office chair and was now fixing Gordon with a piercing glare.

"Gordon, this really isn't helping right now," he growled out. "Stop being so immature."

"Well I'm _sorry_ if I offended you, oh great and wondrous leader," Gordon began, his eyes flashing with resilience.

"Gordy," Virgil warned, standing up a little straighter and pulling his eyes away from the monitor so that he could frown at the aquanaut.

"Don't _'Gordy'_ me!" the copper-haired Tracy shot back. "I'm not a damn kid!"

"Well you're sure as hell actin' like one!" Virgil countered, beginning to lose his temper.

"Virgil, calm down," John ordered, his voice gaining strength as he temporarily forgot about his own predicament and tried to calm his irate brothers. "Scott, take a chill pill. And Gordon, stop being a jerk. You guys are stressing out over nothing. I'll be fine, alright? Now apologise to each other, or so help me I'll-"

"Boys."

The three arguing earth-bound Tracy sons turned towards the door, guilty looks plastered across their faces. Thomas stood leaning against the door frame, one eyebrow raised to impossible heights upon his forehead.

"I leave you alone for _five minutes,_" he began, walking towards them and stopping in front of the desk, his arms crossed over his chest, "and you start arguing. Honestly, kids, I thought you knew better than that."

"Sorry, Tom," Gordon, Virgil and Scott chorused quietly, looking thoroughly chastised.

Virgil shook his head. It was incredible how Thomas had the ability to make him feel like a disobedient child, even at the age of twenty-one. Alan grinned upon seeing his 'mature' siblings being scolded by the old family friend, glad that for once he had chosen to keep his own mouth shut.

Thomas smiled in satisfaction at the subdued expressions on the boys' faces, winking at Alan and chuckling slightly. Sighing, he uncrossed his arms and rounded the desk, moving to stand behind Scott. He looked over at John on the monitor and grinned cheerfully.

"Hey man, how's it hangin'?" he asked lightly. John rolled his eyes at the bad joke, fighting to keep his legs from floating above his head as he adjusted his weakening grip on metal chair.

"Yeah, yeah, go ahead and laugh at the guy who's stuck upside-down on a damn space station!" he grumbled. Seeing the concern in the doctor's eyes, and knowing that Thomas' question had really been referring to John's physical state, he sighed and shook his head. "If you want the truth, I feel like crap. How long until Dad and Brains get here?"

Scott glanced down at the monitor beneath the desk. "Thirty-four minutes."

John groaned and allowed his head to fall in between his outstretched arms. "I really don't think I can keep my breakfast down that long." he mumbled, then grunted as the lights flared behind him and the gravity generator came back on again, sending him crashing down onto the chair. He body rolled sideways and onto the floor, landing with a heavy '_thunk'_ on the hard metal plating.

"John? Johnny, you okay?" Virgil demanded, leaning forward over Scott's right shoulder and gazing worriedly at the empty chair. There was a loud moan, and one of John's arms shot up into view.

"I'm alive," he groaned. "Death wouldn't be this painful."

Then the arm flopped back down again, and John let out a frustrated sigh. "I am _so_ not getting back up again."

"Why not?" Alan asked, looking slightly concerned. "Are you hurt?"

"I'll be fine," John mumbled. "But there's no point in hauling myself to my feet, because - in another couple of minutes - the gravity will go down to zero, and I'll float back up again. I'm sick and tired of being a human yo-yo! I give up!"

"It's alright, John," Thomas said soothingly. "Thunderbird 3 is on its way. In fact, your Dad's probably burning up those boosters, you know what he's like when one of you boys is in trouble. He'll be there before you know it."

"I hope so," John replied breathlessly. "I - oh boy - I think I'm gonna puke."

Each of the Tracy sons grimaced sympathetically, willing their father to go just a little bit faster and reach their brother. Sometimes, they mused, space was just too far away.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

"The tunnel hatch is s-s-s-locked on, Mr. Tracy," Brains stated, unfastening his safety straps and standing to his feet. "We're good to go."

Jeff nodded, yanking off his own restraints and leaping from his chair, opening the storage hold at the back of the control deck and grabbing Brain's repair kit. "What's Thunderbird 5's condition, Brains?" he asked, slinging a med-bag over his shoulders.

"Scans indicate that the sp-sp-sp- that Thunderbird 5 is exhibiting unusual conditions," he reported, reading off the diagnostic panel beside Thunderbird 3's docking hatch. "Zero-gravity, a m-m-m-significant increase in temperature, unexplained energy fluctuations in the backup systems. The l-l-list goes on."

Jeff nodded again, punching in the security code. Disturbing images flashed across his mind of the last time he had flown up to Thunderbird 3 to help his second-eldest. Except, on that occasion, things had been very different. On that occasion, John had nearly been blown to smithereens by a missile.

Shaking his head to rid himself of the memories, Jeff stepped in through the hatch and jogged off down the docking tunnel, stopping long enough to look back towards Brains. When the scientist had secured the hatch to Thunderbird 3, he took a firm grip of the door-frame with one hand, punching in the access code with the other.

"Ready Brains?" he called. Brains adjusted his hold on the toolkit and nodded, reaching out with one gloved hand to hold onto the section of wall beside him. Jeff turned back towards the access panel in front of him and confirmed the code, and a loud '_hiss'_ resounded as the hatch swung open before them. Jeff immediately felt his body begin to lighten, and he took a step through the open hatch, his feet leaving the floor as he began to float upwards. After years of experience with zero-G, he expertly pushed himself along the docking tunnel in the direction of the main corridor. He was hit by a wall of heat as his body completely cleared the airlock, and he winced slightly, grimacing. Shaking his head, he focused his attention on making his way towards the command deck.

"John?" he called, as he entered the large control room and saw no obvious sign of his son.

"Up here, Dad," a voice mumbled. Jeff looked up, and spotted John upon the ceiling, lightly clinging to the induction coils that lined the metal plating. Shrugging off the repair-kit and med-bag, and allowing them to float away somewhere to his left, Jeff used his feet to push himself off the floor and gently propel himself upwards. Grabbing onto a metal rung, he turned to look at his second-eldest child.

"Hey John," he said softly, reaching out a hand to squeeze the younger man's shoulder gently. "You okay?"

A very pale and tired-looking John nodded his head slowly. Jeff knew that his son was lying, but decided that now was not the best time to ask any further questions. John didn't appear to have the energy.

"Dad?"

Jeff glanced down towards the monitor and realised that the rest of his sons were still sitting in his office with Tom. Although they could not actually see the two astronauts up on the station, Jeff had a perfect view of the concern on each of their faces. Glancing over at John momentarily, he pushed himself away from the ceiling and drifted down towards the main console.

"Hi Scott," he smiled, as he saw his eldest child break into a relieved smile. "Is everything alright?"

Instead of answering, Scott broke in with a question of his own. "Dad, is John alright? We haven't seen him in nearly eight minutes now!"

Jeff glanced back at John over his shoulder, noticing that the younger man was getting progressively paler by the minute. "He's just having a rough time of it, Scott," he stated reassuringly. "I'll get him back into Three. Maybe all he needs is a short period of time in normal gravity. But I think I'll take him back home anyway; give him time to recover."

"Mr. Tracy."

Jeff spun himself around to face Brains, who was floating towards him slowly, a data-pad clutched in one hand. The scientist didn't appear to be the least bit put-off by the zero-G, and maneuvered his body with ease, coming to a halt beside Jeff as keeping one hand on the side of the console to steady himself.

"What have you found, Brains?" Jeff asked softly, glancing back up at the ceiling to where John appeared to be falling asleep. The other man readjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose and lowered the data-pad so that he could face Jeff.

"From what I could s-s-s-decipher from the diagnostic readings," Brains began, pressing a few controls on the main panel to confirm he theory, "the new adaptor for the energy generator has m-mal-mal-broken down."

Jeff frowned slightly. "Can you fix it?" he asked softly. Brains smiled and nodded.

"Easy as pi," he said, then looked down again and sighed. "But the r-r-r-repairs will take at least three days to complete."

Jeff nodded his head. "Alright, let's get back to base," he suggested. "You're going to need to collect the right equipment for the job, I presume?"

"A-actually, Mr. Tracy, I have everything I need with me," Brains replied. "When John first told me about these f-f-f-fluctuations before we launched, I made an educated guess as to what had t-t-happened. You see, when I was first installing the - uh - the generator on-board the station, I hadn't t-t-taken into account the fact that the backup power-pack would f-f-f-work on a different energy current to the rest of the station. In short, the - uh - the circuitry within the secondary power relay system has become m-m- uh - it's fused itself to the upper modulator."

Jeff nodded, his brain slowly processing this wad of information. "So," he began slowly. "You don't need to return to base for _anything_? You can begin the repairs right away?"

"Yup," Brains confirmed. "My b-ba-ba-luggage is in Thunderbird 3, you know I always keep a sp-sp-emergency bag in the storage compartment. I'll go and get it. I might as well do Gordon's rotation this week. Either that, or he could take over once the, uh, r-repair job is complete. Anyway, f-f-first things first."

Pushing himself over to the other side of the room, he removed a panel on the wall to reveal an access point to the mainframe computer. Removing a device from his utility belt, he fiddled with a few of the wires for a moment, a frown of concentration playing across his face.

"Dad?"

Jeff looked back at the monitor beside him, remembering that Scott and the others were still watching. "Yes Scott?"

"What's he doing?" Scott asked, his voice a low whisper so as not to disturb Brains. Although, Jeff mused, with the advanced speakers on-board Thunderbird 5, he was sure that Brains would be able to hear the smallest of noises over the comm.

Smiling at his eldest son, Jeff shrugged. "Beats me."

"I'm c-c-c-wiring the mainframe generator to the secondary backup systems," Brains replied, his gaze still fixed on the circuitry within the access panel. "With any luck, it should ch-ch-restore gravity to it's usual levels."

Suddenly, the lights brightened considerably, and the low thrum of the generators pulsed a little faster. Jeff felt himself growing heavier as he slowly sank back down towards the ground. The balls of his feet touched the floor, and he reached out another hand to steady himself against the main console. He was rather glad that Brains had managed to restore the gravity field to it's normal parameters. He hadn't been looking forward to crashing back down to the ground when the double-gravity set in, as it had done whilst John was alone on-board the station.

Once Jeff had regained his balance, he turned around quickly and hurried over to where John was struggling to sit up, his pale face turning slightly pink with the effort.

"Easy, John," Jeff soothed, dropping to his knees beside him and stilling his movements. "Just give yourself time to get your bearings. There's no rush."

John slumped back down onto the floor, panting in exhaustion. "Next time," he gasped. "I'm tying myself to the command chair."

Jeff grinned, pulling off one of his gloves and putting the back of his hand to John's cheek. "You're a little warm," he remarked, moving his hand to John's forehead and brushing the sweaty hair back with his fingers. "How's the space sickness?"

John grimaced, pushing himself up onto his elbows and sucking in an unsteady breath. "It's still there, if that's what you're asking. But I'm fine, Dad. Honest."

Jeff raised an eyebrow, but decided to leave the full medical examination to Virgil and Thomas. It wouldn't do much good on-board Thunderbird 5 anyway, as the station's medical supplies were limited. No, he'd wait until they were back at home, safe and sound.

"C'mon, son." Jeff smiled, standing to his feet and reaching down to help John up. The blond-haired astronaut grunted as his weak legs shook, gripping onto his father's arms as he slowly straightened up. He wobbled precariously for a few seconds, putting a hand to the side of his head and closing his eyes.

"Dizzy?" came a voice from over the comm-line. Jeff turned towards the monitor and saw Thomas gazing at John in sympathetic understanding.

"Uh-huh," John mumbled, taking another deep breath in an attempt to stop the rooms from spinning. The flashing lights were beginning to give him a headache.

"I thought as much." The doctor nodded thoughtfully. "Your brain still thinks that the gravity's going haywire. It'll take a little while for it to realise that things are back to normal. Why don't you go sit down in Thunderbird 3 for a few minutes?"

"Good idea," Jeff agreed, putting an arm around John's shoulders and turning him towards the door. "I'll go get your bags packed. You just take it easy."

"Dad, I'm fine," John protested, a hint of a whine in his voice. Jeff couldn't help but smirk. Even as an adult, John still managed to sound like his little boy when he didn't want to do something.

"I know you are, son," Jeff agreed, leading him down the corridor and towards the access hatch. "But just do this one thing for your old man, okay? Please?"

John sighed, although Jeff knew there was no real fight left in him. "Alright. If it'll make you happy."

"It will," Jeff confirmed, slinging one of John's arms over his shoulder as the younger man stumbled slightly. He paused, allowing John to rest for a moment against the wall. After a gentle nod from his son, they continued on through the hatch and into the docking tunnel.

"Why does the station - always seem - bigger - when you're not in the mood for walking?" John panted, trying to shake off the unpleasant dizzy feeling. "It didn't used to take me this long - to get from the control room to Thunderbird - Thunderbird 3."

"We're almost there," Jeff assured him. "Just a few more steps."

Grunting, John practically staggered the last few metres, collapsing into one of the passenger chairs and closing his eyes. Jeff breathed a sigh of relief, rotating his shoulders and regarding his son with a slightly concerned expression.

"Don't look at me like that," John mumbled, not even bothering to open his eyes. "I feel fine."

"Uh-huh," Jeff replied sceptically. "And I'm the World President."

"Really?" John inquired, opening one eye and gazing up at Jeff with feigned interest. Jeff smiled and ruffled the younger man's damp blond hair. John frowned slightly at the action, but made no other sign of protest. Shivering slightly, he rubbed his arms with his hands vigorously. Jeff looked at him, concerned.

"John, are you alright?" he asked worriedly. The blond gave a quick nod.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he replied, his teeth chattering slightly. Jeff raised an eyebrow, before it suddenly clicked and he mentally slapped himself for being so stupid. The temperature on the station had been significantly higher than that on Thunderbird 3, and John was still drenched with sweat from the long exposure to the hot conditions. The cool interior of Thunderbird 3 had to be rather a shock to the younger man's body, especially since his clothes and skin were slightly damp with warm perspiration. No wonder John was shivering.

Grabbing an emergency blanket from the small medical storage compartment beside the hatch, Jeff gently placed it over John's shivering body and tucked it around him.

"I'll be as quick as I can, John," Jeff promised, leaning down to brush the wet bangs away from the sweaty forehead once more. "Once I've got your belongings packed up, we'll head home. Alright?"

"F.A.B," John replied sleepily, his body relaxing as his shaking was reduced to the occasional shudder. Stepping towards the open hatch, Jeff glanced back at John and sighed. He would have to go against his own rules during the flight home, and pilot Thunderbird 3 without a copilot. John was clearly in no condition to assist him.

_Well, it's like I always say. Rules are made to be broken. Besides, I'm the founder of International Rescue. Who's going to reprimand me for breaking my own rules? Scott? Huh, I guess that's the one and only bonus of being the eldest member of the team;_

_I may have a few wrinkles, but I also have authority._

* * *

**_John has been rescued from his unpleasant experience on-board the station, but is that the end of the problems for the Tracy family? How will the rest of the boys respond to John being back at home once again? How will the family react when Alan reveals one of his secrets? Find out next time!_**

**_PLEASE REVIEW and tell me all your thoughts/feelings/requests/comments. I'd love to hear from you! After all, it's not the process of writing that helps an author to improve their stories, it's the feedback they receive from the readers that indicates any improvements I need to make._**

**_xox_**


	4. Chapter 4: Troublesome Permission Forms

**_Yes, I'm late. I'm sorry. There are some weeks when college work is really tough, and this week was one of them. I am SO glad that it's the weekend. I've had so much work to do, it's ridiculous. Plus my gran had to have surgery the other day, so that kinda added to the stress. Don't worry, she's recovering nicely in hospital, so everything's alright now._**

**_Thanks again for all the awesome reviews, they really made me feel appreciated. _**

**_Anyway, here's chapter four! Enjoy!_**

* * *

John sat on one of the beds in the infirmary, dressed in a light shirt and a pair of shorts. Although the shower he had just taken had left him feeling less out of sorts, it hadn't really helped with most of the aches and pains all over his body. And, to top all that, everything still seemed to be moving up and down as though he were on a see-saw.

"John?"

The blond-haired astronaut glanced up at his younger brother and smiled. "Yeah?"

Virgil held up a penlight and raised the index finger of his other hand. "Follow my finger," he instructed softly.

John rolled his eyes and sighed in exasperation. "Virgil, this is ridiculous. I've already told you, I didn't hit my head."

"Mmm-hmm," Virgil replied absentmindedly, moving his finger to the side. "John, you're not following," he admonished lightly.

"That's because there's nothing wrong with my head!" John complained. It was true, his head felt fine. It was the rest of his body that didn't feel so good. And he was tired. So, so tired. Why couldn't Virgil do his check-up later? It wasn't as if he was going anywhere.

Virgil frowned at his older brother, reaching forward to tilt John's chin up. John glared at him and swatted his hand away.

"Would you please leave me alone?!" he grumbled. He knew he was being unreasonable, but he couldn't help it. He felt like crap.

"Uh-oh! Is somebody being a grouchy patient?" a voice teased from the doorway. Turning towards the sound, John managed a weak smile.

"Hey Tom," he greeted softly. "Please tell me you've come to rescue me from 'Mr. Medical' here?"

Thomas laughed, stepping into the room and walking up to the bedside. Standing next to Virgil, he peered into John's face and smiled brightly, his green eyes sparkling. "Sorry, pal," he apologised. "But I'm actually here as backup for your younger brother. From experience, I know how difficult a patient you can be."

John groaned and shifted his gaze up to the ceiling. "Two doctors at once?" he murmured. "Now that's just cruel. Who planned this, and why do they have a personal vendetta against me?"

Virgil and Tom both chuckled, and John looked back at them with a small smile of his own. Glancing at his younger brother, he sighed in resignation. "Fine, I'll cooperate."

"Good man." Tom grinned, stepping to the side so that Virgil could stand directly in front of John once again. The brown-haired Tracy raised his index finger as he had done before, and John dutifully followed the moving digit with his eyes. After a few minutes, Virgil seemed satisfied.

"See, was that so difficult?" he questioned lightly, setting the penlight down and leaning on the edge of the mattress. John smiled wearily, blinking his heavy eyelids in an attempt to keep himself awake. Virgil noticed this, and his smile lessened somewhat. "You still feeling tired?"

"You could say that," John murmured, rubbing at his sore wrist as he yawned. Suddenly, the doors to the infirmary opened with a '_swish_', and three figures stepped into the room. The shortest of the three swiftly went to the bedside, putting his hands on his older brother's arms.

"John, are you alright?" Alan demanded worriedly. "Sorry I wasn't here to meet you when you arrived. Fermat had a little trouble with one of the hover-bikes."

"Is he alright?" John asked, waking up a little more. Alan nodded and smiled.

"He's fine. Dirty, but fine," Alan assured him. Then his face became serious once more. "How about you?"

"I'm good, Sprout," John replied wearily, rubbing a hand over his face. "I just need to crash for a few hours."

"You sure?" Alan asked, looking sceptical. Over on the other side of the room, Scott and Jeff - who had entered the room with Alan - tried to hide their smiles. However much the youngest Tracy tried to deny it, he was becoming more and more like Virgil by the day.

"Positive," John smiled, looking at the young teenager fondly. "Now, aren't you gonna say a proper 'hello' to me?"

Grinning, Alan pulled John into a tight hug, which the older blond reciprocated. As they broke apart, Alan stared more intently up at his older brother.

"You're _absolutely_ positive that you're okay?" he asked again. John sighed and rolled his eyes, shooting Scott and amused glance over Alan's shoulder.

"Yes, doctor," he joked, unable to suppress a grin. "I'm fine. Promise."

"Good," Alan replied, before slapping John lightly on the arm and frowning at him with an expression John was usually only subjected to when under the care of 'Virge the Surge'. Alan's eyes were serious as he gazed straight into John's face."Don't scare me like that again, alright?"

John stared at the teenager incredulously, before turning to Virgil and glaring at him accusingly. "Virgil, what did you _do_ to him?!"

Virgil and Scott laughed, and Alan looked from one brother to the other in confusion. John smiled and patted Alan on the head gently. "Don't fret, Sprout." he soothed. "A couple of days with me, and we'll be able to reverse this whole 'brain-washing' thing he's obviously done to you."

"But," Virgil interjected, stepping forward to John's side and holding up a hand-held scanner, "in the meantime, I've got an examination to finish. Now hold still."

Sighing, John allowed the young doctor to run the scanner up and down his body, listening to it beep and whir shrilly. Looking over at Alan, he smiled at the teenager fondly. Alan grinned back, and John mused that, perhaps, the malfunctions on-board Thunderbird 5 had been worth it. True, they had made him feel nauseous, and his body was as bruised as a fallen plum, but what did that matter now? He was home, and everything seemed right with the world.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Alan looked down at the sheet of paper in his hands and sighed. _Dad's never gonna agree to this. He's way too overprotective. And the other guys won't like the idea, either. Scott'll be too paranoid about me having an accident, so he won't want Dad to sign it. Huh, I can hear is response right now. He'll give me that sympathetic look of his and say, "Sorry, Sprout, it's too dangerous. We just don't want you to get hurt." It's a pointless battle. Should I even bother asking Dad to sign it? Maybe I should wait until later, when Dad and I can get some time on our own. If I say it in front of Scott and Virgil, there'll be no hope of me getting his permission._

Sighing again, Alan stood up from his desk chair and walked towards the bay doors that led out onto his balcony. Pushing open one of the doors, he stepped out into the bright sunshine and sighed, breathing in the fresh air. Leaning against the rail, he gazed at the permission form in his hands, caught on indecision. He would be returning to boarding school in just over four weeks, and the permission forms had to be sent off to Wharton's before the new semester started. He needed to ask his father about it sooner or later. He had been putting it off ever since the beginning of the Summer break, and it had been constantly tugging at the back of his mind. However, he never seemed to be able to find the time to ask. It wasn't that his father ignored him, quite the opposite, actually. Ever since his 'brush with death' earlier that summer, the Tracy patriarch hadn't yet left Alan on his own for more than a few hours. Yet still, Alan hadn't mustered up the courage to ask him.

Frowning at his own cowardice, Alan allowed his gaze to wonder out to sea, inhaling in the heavy tropical scent that wafted up from the jungle nearby. The late afternoon sun shone down on him, and he squinted slightly against its harsh glare, inwardly urging himself to swallow his feelings and just ask his father outright. _For goodness sakes, Alan, suck it up. This is ridiculous! Why am I so worried about asking him to sign his name on the dotted line? It's not like it's anything illegal!_

Turning around so that his lower back was leaning against the rail, he successfully shielded his eyes from the sun and blinked the dots out of his vision. Folding the form into quarters, he stepped back into his bedroom with the intention of putting it back in his sock drawer, away from prying eyes.

"Hey, Sprout!"

Alan jumped, startled, as Gordon clapped him on the shoulder, having been pressing himself flat against the wall beside the bay doors so that Alan could not see him as he entered the room. Grinning, the copper-haired Tracy ruffled Alan's hair.

"Aaw, did I scare little Allie-wallie?" he teased. Alan frowned at him and swatted his hand away.

"Knock it off, fish-feet," the younger teenager grumbled, hiding the permission forms behind his back in the vain hope that Gordon had not already seen it. _Who knows? I might be in luck this time._

"Whatcha got there, Al?" Gordon asked lightly, plopping down onto Alan's bed.

Alan winced. _Darn._

"Nothing, just school stuff," he answered hastily, stuffing the papers into the large pocket of his shorts.

"Boring," Gordon sighed, glancing over to where a book lay at the foot of the bed. Picking it up, the red-head pulled a disgusted face. He looked up towards Alan and raised an eyebrow. "Please tell me you weren't reading this before I came in?"

"And what if I was?" Alan countered, plucking the text book out of his brother's hands and tossing it onto his desk.

"It's _science_, Alan!" Gordon elaborated in exasperation. "You're not supposed to do that stuff at home when you're a teenager. It's - it's just wrong, okay?"

Alan laughed, sitting down on his desk chair and pushing off with his feet so that it rolled over to the bed. "What's the matter, Gordo? Ashamed to have a younger brother who's smarter than you?"

Gordon's face suddenly grew serious, and Alan's smile slid off his face. "Gordon, I was only kidding," he said, sincerely. "I mean, you're way smarter than me when it comes to mechanics and hydro-technology, and-"

"Alan, relax." Gordon smiled reassuringly. "I knew you weren't being serious. That's not what I was thinking about."

Alan spun around on his chair a few times, frowning slightly. "What _were_ you thinking about?" he asked, putting his feet on the floor and shaking his head to get rid of the temporary dizziness that he was experiencing.

"I've just been wondering about some - stuff, that's all," he remarked, speaking softly. Alan refrained from making any sarcastic comment at this point, realising that for once the prankster of the family was trying to be serious about something.

"When we were growing up - you know, before Dad first put International Rescue into business a few years ago," Gordon began, "do you remember what I told you every time I went off to boarding school without you?"

"What, _'See ya, squirt. Don't kill my fish, or I'll make you wish you'd never been born__' ?_" Alan asked lightly, smiling.

Gordon laughed, shaking his head. "No, the other thing."

Alan thought for a moment, trying to recall what else Gordon had said to him at the beginning of each semester. After a few moments, he shook his head. "Sorry, nothing springs to mind. It was years ago, Gords. My memory isn't _that_ good."

Gordon smiled and leaned against the wall. "I used to tell you that, no matter what, you'd always be just as smart as me."

Alan grinned. "Yeah, but you were referring to our pranks, not to school work."

Gordon looked at him steadily. "Actually, I wasn't, " he said softly. "I knew you were smart, Sprout. Heck, with a mind as cunning as yours when it came to pranks, there were bound to be some half-decent brains up in there, too. You're a lot like Virge, you know. He never realised how smart he was, either. John's genius was far too obvious to ignore, of course. I mean, how many nine-year-olds could read Shakespeare and actually _understand_ it? No, his was a different kind of brainy. But you - I never wanted to admit to it, but I knew that one day you'd be smarter than me."

"I'm not-" Alan tried to argue, but Gordon just smiled and shook his head.

"Alan, I barely scraped C's in almost every subject during high school, except in navigation and marine biology. It wasn't that I didn't try, it was simply that I couldn't understand half of it. You see, stuff I didn't care about, I didn't understand. Because I wanted to join WASP as a junior navigator at sixteen, I only took an interest in the subjects that actually mattered to the course. Everything else..."

He broke off, shrugging. "Well, anyway, I never had the same kinda brain capacity as the rest of you guys when it came to school stuff," he concluded. "That's one of the reasons why you bugged the hell outta me last year. I knew that you were capable of getting top grades, but your report cards were almost as bad as mine had been, sometimes even worse! But after Spring break - darn it, kid, you must've worked your socks off."

Alan nodded slowly. "I just wanted to prove to you guys that there was more to me than just rockets and 'raging hormones', as Virgil put it. I wanted to show Dad what I was capable of. He deserved that much from me."

Gordon leaned forward and smiled. "I know this is gonna sound weird coming from me, and feel free to freak out if you think I'm being too mature, but-" he paused, sighing deeply and looking Alan straight in the eye. "I'm proud of you, Al."

Alan blinked in surprise, not quiet knowing what to say. "Thanks," he said softly, finally finding his voice again. Gordon grinned.

"Don't mention it. Now," he slapped his thighs and stood up, "I was supposed to be coming up here to tell you that it was dinner in five minutes. But the five minutes have gone, so I guess it's dinner now, huh?"

Smiling, Alan wheeled himself back over to the computer, flicking a switch on the underside of the screen to turn the device off, and then leaped out of the chair energetically. "Let's go. I'm starved."

The two teenagers jogged out into the corridor and down towards the stairs, descending them two at a time as they picked up their pace and broke into a sprint, shoving each other as they fought to be the first one to reach the dining room. Grinning, they burst through the doorway, nearly tripping over their own feet as they all but collapsed into their chairs.

"Yes!" Gordon cried triumphantly, panting as he held up his fist in victory. "And the crowd goes wild!"

Thomas, who was sitting in the seat that Brains usually occupied, raised an amused eyebrow. "Well," he commented lightly, taking a sip from his glass. "I'm glad to see that you haven't matured, Gordon."

Gordon pretended to look affronted. "And what's that supposed to mean?" he demanded.

"Nothing, nothing," the older man smiled, running a hand through his dark brown hair casually.

"He means you act like a toddler, Gordo," Scott elaborated. Alan, who had been in the process of taking a sip of his coke, coughed and spluttered as he accidently inhaled a mouthful.

"Now look what you've done," Gordon admonished, whacking Alan in between the shoulder bladesa little harder than was necessary. The younger teenager winced, arching his back as he turned away from his brother's hard hand.

"Ow!" he croaked, still coughing slightly from the inhaled liquid. "Geez, d'you have to hit so hard?!"

Gordon held up his hands in self-defence. "You try to help a guy," he muttered. "And this is the thanks you get."

"If you'd like to help somebody, Gordon," a soft voice called from the door of the kitchen. "You could come and help me bring the dishes onto the table."

"Sure thing, Onaha!" Gordon called. Grinning, he slapped his hands on his thighs once again,standing to his feet and walking swiftly around the the table. He stepped around the serving counter and into the kitchen, disappearing from view. Alan shook his head and took another sip of his drink, flexing his shoulders. The centre of his back still tingled from where Gordon had struck him. _Gordo's the greatest brother a guy could ask for, but he can be a real jerk sometimes._

A few moments later, Gordon and Onaha entered the dining room, each carrying a large dish of lasagna. Setting her burden down on a heat-proof mat at the bottom end of the table, Onaha smiled at the grin that was plastered across Thomas' face.

"Onaha," he said softly. "If I hadn't already tied the knot, I would marry you."

Laughing, the Malaysian woman took a seat beside him, shaking her head. "I think that both my husband and your wife may have had something to say about that if you had tried."

"True," Thomas agreed, sipping at his lemonade. "Say, where _is _Kyrano? I haven't seen him yet."

"He and Tin-Tin went shopping for supplies on the mainland," Jeff answered, indicating for everybody to start helping themselves to the hot food. "They should be back sometime tomorrow morning."

Once everybody had been served, they all tucked into the delicious meal. Thomas' face softened into an expression of bliss, and Alan couldn't help but laugh at him. Lasagna had always been one of the doctor's favourite foods. Listening to the old family friend as he told amusing stories about his time in Peru, Alan was able to forget about the permission forms in his pocket. Well, at least for a little while.

"So Alan," Thomas said suddenly, smiling at Onaha as she served him another large portion of lasagna. "When do you and Fermat go back to Wharton's?"

"Four weeks on Monday," Alan replied, pouring himself another glass of coke. Beside him, Fermat nodded his head in agreement.

"Hey Al," Scott interjected, looking thoughtful. "Don't you get to choose an out-of-school activity course this semester?"

Alan froze momentarily, suddenly remembering the papers in his pocket. As he had not yet answered the question, Fermat nodded his head again and took a sip of his drink.

"Yeah, he does," the younger boy replied. "Ap-ap-technically I'm not old enough, so I have to w-wait until next year. But Alan's already p-p-chosen his activity, right Al?"

"Um-" Alan murmured, taking another bite as he stalled for time. Then he shrugged and looked back down at his plate.

"What are you thinking of taking, Alan?" John asked, having noticed the way that his younger brother tried to avoid eye contact. Alan glanced up at him and shrugged again.

"C'mon, Al, I know there's gotta be something that you're interested in," Scott pressed. "Why don't you join the mechanic's club like Virgil did?"

"Yeah," Thomas agreed. "Or you could join the 'nerd-herd' like John did."

"Hey!" John protested. "It was _not _a 'nerd-herd'. It was an astronomy study group."

Thomas grinned. "Same thing," he teased. John tried to glare at him, but the smile on his face belied to fierce gaze of his eyes.

"I already do workshop," Alan began. "And I don't think I have the same brains as Virge does when it comes to re-wiring cars, so I doubt there'd be much use in me joining the mechanic's club."

"Don't be ridiculous, Al," Virgil protested. "You know the structure of internal compact circuitry better than I do!"

Alan raised an eyebrow at him, but did not comment. True, he was good at hot-wiring bikes, and he could fix just about any piece of mechanical equipment, but Virgil was still far better than he could ever hope to be. Glancing back down at his plate, he pushed a piece of lettuce around with his fork, feeling the light pressure of the permission form against he leg whenever he shifted in his seat.

"So what _are_ you gonna do, kiddo?" Thomas inquired, twirling his glass around in between his fingers.

Alan paused, battling against his instincts, and slowly reached into his pocket. _Come on, you wuss, don't be such a girl. It's a stupid form. They won't freak. Maybe the guys won't even care. After all, their activities each had an element of risk, too. Well, except John's. _

Closing his fingers around the carefully folded sheets in his pocket, he pulled out the form and silently handed it over to his father. Jeff raised an eyebrow, taking it from him.

"What's this?" he asked casually, unfolding it and beginning to read.

"A permission form," Alan answered quietly, glancing over at Fermat. The younger boy stared back at him quizzically, mouthing '_What is it?'_ as he nodded his head towards the papers. Alan didn't answer, but looked back over to his father, who was wearing a rather surprised expression.

"A motocross team?" he asked finally.

Scott, who had been in the midst of taking a bite of his food, froze with the fork centimetres from his mouth. Virgil swallowed his mouthful so loudly that Alan could actually hear the food as it was gulped down. John's right eyebrow slowly began to make its usual ascent in the upwards direction, although the rest of his face remained neutral. Gordon wore the expression usually referred to as 'fish-slapped', and stared at Alan as if he had grown another head.

Alan grimaced. This was exactly what he had been worrying about.

"Motocross?" Thomas repeated, sounding pleased. "Nice choice, Al. Your dad and I can give you some tips in that area, we used to be pretty decent riders back in the day."

Alan was glad that he had just swallowed his mouthful of coke, as he was sure he would have choked otherwise. He turned shocked eyes towards his father, his mouth hanging open slightly. _What the- Dad used to do motocross? Since when?!_

"Dad?" Scott began, sounding equally as shocked. Jeff held up his hand.

"Yes, I was a member of the Kansas junior team when I was a teenager," he sighed. "Only for a year, though. I never really had a passion for it like the other guys did."

"You were still good, though," Thomas interjected. When the rest of the table looked at him for an explanation, he smiled. "My older brother owned a couple of dirt bikes when I was growing up, and he taught me everything I know. During the first six-month rotation aboard the NASA space station, I discovered that Jeff also knew how to ride, and I dared him to race me when we arrived back on earth. "

Alan didn't think it was possible to be more surprised than he was right now. He turned back to gaze at his father, a hopeful expression plastered across his face. Scott saw it and shook his head.

"Nuh-uh," he stated. "No way, Sprout. It's far too dangerous."

"So's sky-diving!" Alan protested. "And that didn't stop you! You were only a year older than me when you took your first jump."

Scott opened and closed his mouth for a few moments, before turning to his father. "Dad, you're not seriously thinking of letting him race, are you? Do you realise how many people get injured in motocross races?"

"Scott, it's run by the education board," Alan stated. "They have health and safety standards, same as every other subject I take. I'll be in just as much danger as you used to be on the soccer pitch."

Alan took a calming breath and looked at his eldest brother steadily. "This is the first year that Wharton's has offered this course to kids my age," he said softly."And I _really_ wanna do it. I know I'll be good at it - Mr. Richmond thinks so, too."

"Who's Mr. Richmond?" John asked, leaning forward in his seat and resting his elbows on the table as he studied his younger brother's face.

"He's the guy in charge of workshop," Alan explained, gaining confidence. "And last term, he helped me and the rest of my class make a dirt bike from scratch. We tested it out in short bursts, but we agreed that we couldn't really see how well the engine ran unless we tested it to its limit. So I volunteered to try it out. Mr. Richmond used to do motocross before he taught at Wharton's, which is one of the reasons why he's so good at mechanical engineering. Anyway, he was the one who recommended me for the school's motocross course. In fact, he practically begged me to join it the team."

Alan smiled at the memory. Richmond had always been his favourite teacher, so laid-back and friendly, and he had gone as far as to threaten Alan with his resignation if he wasn't on the motocross team after the summer break.

Gordon grinned, thumping Alan on the back. "Dude, that's awesome!" he congratulated. Turning towards their father, he nodded his head. "You've gotta let him go, Dad. It's only fair. You let me join the state swimming team at his age, remember?"

"Gordon, swimming and motocross are different things entirely," Scott argued, looking distressed at the thought of his baby brother participating in such a dangerous sport.

"Not the way I see it," the red-head countered. Alan grinned. _Okay, so I've got Gordon on my side. One down, three to go. But Scott's gonna be the hardest to persuade, and I don't think he's gonna give in without a fight._

"I agree with Gordon," John said calmly, twirling a fork around as he spoke. "Alan's old enough to make his own decisions. And besides, if his teacher recommended him for the course, the Sprout's gotta be good."

"But Scott's right, it _is_ a dangerous sport," Virgil argued. "The chances of him sustaining a serious injury are very high."

"Yeah well, the same can be said for any sport, Virge," Gordon added. "After all, Scott nearly tore his knee in half playing soccer when he was about Alan's age."

"It wasn't that bad," Scott muttered. John snorted in amusement.

"Scott, you lost almost a pint of blood!" he exclaimed. "You needed surgery to fix the skin grafts over the wound. That's probably about as bad as it gets."

Alan, who had been watching his father silently for a few minutes now, finally managed to make eye contact with the older Tracy. Jeff smiled at him, and suddenly all the butterflies -the ones that had been fluttering in Alan's stomach - died down. Jeff leaned over the table and handed the form back to him.

"Remind me about it tomorrow, and I'll see what I can do," he said softly. Alan blinked in surprise.

"Wha-? You mean I can join the team?" he asked excitedly. "Are you serious?!"

Jeff chuckled and nodded. "Yeah, kiddo, I'm serious. However much I hate to admit it, you're growing up. And I can't deny you this, especially since I did it myself when I was your age. But you have to be responsible when you're riding, son. It isn't a sport that you can mess around with. A small mistake due to foolishness can land you in hospital. I know that from experience. If I agree to this, you have to promise me that you'll be sensible."

Alan nodded, completely serious. "I promise."

"Good." Jeff smiled. "Then I see no reason why I can't sign my signature on the form. Bring it to me tomorrow morning, and we'll talk about it some more."

Gordon clapped Alan on the shoulder. "Way to go, Sprout!" he grinned. "Now, I expect you to win every race or I'll disown you, got it?"

Alan laughed with the rest of the table, feeling happier than he had done in a long while. He had never expected his father to give in so easily. Although, come to think of it, he had never expected his father to have admitted to having once raced as part of a motocross team.

_Well, he didn't really admit to it. Tom kinda blurted it out. Man, I owe that guy a huge favour. He's probably the reason why Dad gave in without a fight. Tom would have backed me up all the way, I'd forgotten how much he loves bikes. Hmm, I'll need to ask him for some tips later on._

Alan took another bite of his lasagna and smiled. He glanced across to where his eldest brother sat silently, wearing a rather serious expression upon his tanned face. He looked at Alan and smiled softly, nodded ever so slightly. Alan grinned back and nodded in understanding. He knew what that smile meant. It meant that, although Scott did not approve of the sport, he was still proud of Alan for standing up for what he wanted to do.

Alan sat back in his chair, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he listened to Thomas recount another amusing tale about his experience in Peru. Taking a sip of his coke, he sighed in content.

At the present moment, he was quite sure that he was the happiest teenager on the planet.

* * *

_**So everything is as it should be on Tracy island. But how long will it last? For there is always danger lurking around the corner, and the Tracy boys are known for being danger-magnets. Will Alan be reinstated as a member of the Thunderbirds team, or will his brothers still insist on smothering him? Find out in the next chapter!**_

**_PLEASE REVIEW and tell me what you thought of it. I'm trying to give this story a nice steady pace, but I also don't want to bore you. Let me know if it's working._**

**_Laters!_**

**_xoxoxoxoxoxoxox_**


	5. Chapter 5: Discussions and Disputes

_**Thanks for all the awesome reviews, guys, they never fail to cheer me. And sorry to those few people that I didn't manage to reply to, I really have been very busy recently. But please rest assured that each and every comment was much appreciated.**_

_**Is everybody sitting comfortably? Yes? Good. Then I'll begin. **_

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* * *

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Alan glanced at his alarm clock as he bent down to tie the laces on his sneakers. The early morning sun shone through the cream-coloured drapes, illuminating the room with its warm, welcoming glow. Yawning, Alan rubbed the sleep from his eyes and stood, walking into his en-suite bathroom. Running the tap, he splashed cold water onto his face, shivering as a few droplets trickled down his neck. Then, grabbing the hand-towel, he scrubbed his face dry, running his fingers through his hair and sighing as he surveyed himself in the mirror.

_Another friggin' zit on my chin. Great. At least I've lost the panda eyes. Damn, just listen to me...I sound like Tin-Tin!_

It had been three days since John had returned from Thunderbird 5 and, now that his older brother's bruises were fading, Alan found that the attention had been drawn back to him. The slightest cough or sneeze would bring forth an all too frequently worn frown of worry on each of his siblings' faces. It wasn't obvious in the sense that the rest of his family would notice each other doing it, but it was enough for the youngest Tracy to know that his older brothers were still as concerned about his state of health as they had ever been. And it was beginning to get on his nerves.

In fact, this was one of the reasons why Alan was up and awake at five-thirty in the morning. With the rest of his family still asleep, he had the freedom to do as he wished without his brothers' worried gazes following him around everywhere, watching his every move like a giant flock of paranoid hawks. It also gave him a chance to go jogging, which he wouldn't normally be able to do without at least one of his brothers tagging along to keep an eye on him. It wasn't that Alan didn't enjoy their company, it was just that, when he had let Scott go on a morning jog with him a few days earlier, the older Tracy had turned to him every five minutes to ask if he was feeling alright. It had taken all of Alan's restraint not to push his eldest brother off the top of the cliff.

Alan crept out of his bedroom and into the hallway, closing his door softly behind him. Padding down the stairs as quietly as possible, he made his way through the corridor and past the lounge, heading towards the double doors beside the pool entrance. Sliding one of the doors open, he stepped out into the orange light of the early morning sunrise. Descending the steps quickly, he paused long enough to bend down and touch his toes a couple of times in order to stretch his hamstrings, and then straightened up, breaking into a slow jog. As he disappeared off down the main path to the beach, he quickened his pace, smiling as he the rich, sweet smells of the jungle wafted around him on the wings of the wind. Inhaling deeply, he fell into a steady rhythm and continued on down the path, his feet carrying him swiftly over the brown dirt.

As his legs grew accustomed to the rhythm, he felt himself relaxing and allowed his mind to wonder. A random jumble of thoughts passed through his head, accompanied by short flashes of memory, both distant and recent. He smiled slightly as he thought of all the excitement he was going to experience at school once the new semester started. He was going to join the motocross team. His father had signed all the necessary paperwork, and had even gone as far as promising that he would attend as many of Alan's races as he could.

Alan jumped over a fallen branch with increased vigour. _But I know he still isn't one-hundred percent happy about me racing. I caught him double-checking the health and safety procedures at Wharton's, just to make sure that I'll be safe when I'm riding. I understand why he and the others might be worried about me, motocross __**is**__ a dangerous sport. But - I just wish they could all give me a little bit more freedom for once. After all, I'm fifteen now. They can't treat me like a baby forever._

Grimacing, Alan shook his head. _Okay, that's a lie. I don't think Scott will ever be able to see me as anything more than a kid, not even when I have kids of my own. And I guess that'll be okay. As long as he lets me get on with my life, I won't complain. But the other guys - well, I can cope with having one paranoid brother, but I'm really starting to get sick of the way that Virgil and Gordon fuss over me. I mean c'mon, Gordon's supposed to be my partner. He's supposed to be the one who backs me up in arguments against the other guys, the one who treats me as an equal. Well, he doesn't make it as obvious as the other guys do, but he still treats me differently. Ever since I got sick, he's somehow acquired a few of Scott's mother-hen traits. I just wish the casual, easy-going, 'loves-to-insult-you' Gordon would come back. But he hasn't had an argument with me in weeks. That's - that's just wrong. So, so wrong. I mean, in many ways, it's our arguments that make us such good friends. Does that even make sense? No, not really. Maybe the guys are right; maybe I am insane. But if I am, it's their fault. They're trying to keep me in a little box so that I won't get hurt again, and it's really starting to drive me up the wall!_

As the path opened out onto the beach, Alan slowed his fast pace before finally coming to a halt, breathing heavily as he bent forward slightly, wiping the perspiration from his forehead. The salty air wafted into his face, blown inland over the vast expanse of ocean before him. Smiling, he walked over to a large boulder, heaving himself up onto it so that he sat on top with his legs dangling over the side. The tide was in, and the blue waves danced over the sand only a few metres away from him, creating a continuous, gentle hiss as they rolled over one another, fighting each other in an attempt to reach the foot of the boulder.

"Alan?"

The young teenager jumped, startled, and spun round to face the intruder. John stood a few metres behind him, dressed in jogging pants and a baggy white t-shirt, water bottle clutched in one hand. He regarded his younger brother neutrally.

"Oh...hey." Alan wiped his sweaty palms against his thighs, trying to hide his surprise. "You're up early."

Approaching the boulder, the older Tracy heaved himself up beside the teenager, allowing his legs to dangle over the side as Alan's were doing.

"I was gonna say the same thing about you," John replied casually, his eyes wondering over to the sparkling water before them. "It's not even six yet, Sprout. Are you feeling alright?"

And there it was. That same old question. Alan sighed, his gaze dropping to his lap as he fiddled with the hem of his jogging shorts.

"I'm fine."

"You sure?" John pressed softly, nonchalantly, still not looking at his brother.

Alan frowned, kicking at the rock beneath him with the heel of his right sneaker. "I'm _fine_, John."

John shrugged. "Okay."

A short silence fell between them; the semi-uncomfortable sort of silence that always arises when two people want to say something to each other, but neither wishes to go first. At last, Alan cleared his throat and leaned forwards, resting his forearms on his knees as he stared down at the yellow sand at the foot of the boulder.

"Hey, can I ask you something?"

John turned to look at him again, his _'I'm listening'_ expression sliding into place. His blue eyes softened, and his right eyebrow ascended ever so slightly. He nodded his assent, his gaze encouraging.

Alan brought his right knee up to his chest, keeping the other leg hanging over the side of the boulder, and took another deep breath.

"D'you think if I asked, Virgil will let me be a part of the team again?" he inquired, his fingers running along the small scar on the side of his right leg.

John's left eyebrow rose up to greet its partner for a moment, before he sighed and visibly sagged. "To be honest, Al, I really don't know. He has his reasons for keeping you outta danger, we all do."

"What reasons?" Alan demanded, the sullen tone he'd been trying to avoid using creeping back into his voice. "They can't be medical reasons, 'cause physically I'm fine!"

John shrugged. "Virgil knows best."

Alan spun 'round so fast that he almost slipped off the boulder, and would have fallen had John not grabbed his upper arm and tugged him backwards. Reclaiming his balance, Alan levelled John with a frown – though it was less intense than he had originally intended, since his brother _had_ just stopped him from falling and all.

"Virge knows best?" he repeated bitterly. "And that means what? That I have to do whatever he tells me to do because I'm not old enough to override his medical judgement? Because Dad listens to Virge more than he listens to me?"

"Alan-" John began soothingly, but the younger Tracy had finally a channel through which he coukd vent all of his pent-up frustration, and he was far from finished.

"No, John. You and I both know that it has got _nothing_ to do with my state of health. The truth is that you guys just can't stand the idea of me being in a dangerous situation. I understand that I'm not old enough to go jumping into burning buildings, John, for Pete's sake! But you had Gordon manning Mobile control for six months before he was considered to be 'old enough' for physical rescue work. Why can't I do the same? You let me do the rescue in Dhaka at the start of the summer. Has this scarlet fever thing really changed my ability to push buttons on a control panel? No. It was a bug, Johnny, nothing more."

He ran a hand through his hair, took a few deep breaths, and kicked the boulder a little harder. "Gah, you guys are driving me crazy! I feel like I'm in a house full of babysitters. I'm not even allowed to go outside without somebody watching me through the window! And I swear, the next person who asks me if I'm alright is gonna get something sharp and pointy shoved right up their fu- Ow!"

Alan rubbed his smarting shoulder, staring at his brother indignantly. "Geez, what was that for?"

John pointed an admonishing finger at Alan's face. "Somebody needs to be more careful about what's comin' outta their mouth. Yell at me all you want, but cursing like a drunken sailor isn't acceptable"

Looking away, suitably chastised, Alan pouted and kicked at the rock some more. "Sorry. I just...I'm sorry."

He felt John's hand on his shoulder, rubbing the area it had recently slapped.

"Hey," the astronaut murmured. "We all need a brother to scream at sometimes. I'm just glad you chose me over Scott, 'cause he would've hit you harder."

The teenager glanced towards him, managing a faint smile. John's hand slid up to ruffle his hair, a familiar action of affection that told him all was settled between them. His eyes were gentle and understanding, and Alan felt the anger ebb away.

"I shouldn't have ranted at you," he said. "You're not the one I'm angry at."

John mimicked Alan's position, bringing his right knee up to his chest and leaning back with his left hand pressed behind him for support. "Are you angry at Virgil?"

Alan hesitated, before sighing and shaking his head. "No. Not really. It's just...I didn't-" he sighed again, thumping the rock with his fist in frustration. "Why does he always treat me like I'm made of glass?"

"Because you're his kid brother," John replied evenly. At Alan's blank stare, he smiled gently." He's only holding onto your International Rescue pin because he wants to keep you safe, keep you a _kid_, for a little bit longer. Adulthood isn't anything to rush into, Al. And besides, he probably doesn't know that it's affecting you like this. Have you tried talking to him about it?"

The bitterness in Alan's eyes died slowly, and he returned his gaze to the blue ocean in front of them. "I didn't think of that," he admitted softly. "I - I just-"

"You just assumed that he was keeping you off the team because he thought you were too young to cope with it?" John suggested. Alan blushed again, and John squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. "It's okay. I'll have a word with Virge, let him know how it's making you feel. I'm not promising anything overnight, but I'll do my best to get the ball rolling again. All right?"

Alan raised hope-filled eyes towards the older Tracy. "Are you serious?"

"Yup." John smiled. "I can be very persuasive at times, as I'm sure you already know. But remember, Virge isn't the only person we're gonna have to convince. Dad's still pretty protective too, you know."

Alan's smile faded somewhat, and he nodded sullenly. "Yeah. I Know."

"Hey, c'mon. Cheer up." John ruffled Alan's hair again. "It's too nice a day to be glum, chum."

"What is it with you and rhyme?" Alan asked, grinning cheekily. "You're like some sort of wannabe soppy love poet."

John opened his mouth in horror. "Me? A - a _poet_?" he cried incredulously, putting on a pompous tone of voice. "Why, the very idea disgusts me! I write books, Alan, _books_!"

Alan grinned, punching John lightly on the arm, being careful to avoid the area that he knew would still be slightly bruised from John's less-than-enjoyable experience on-board Thunderbird 5. John smirked in return, pulling Alan into a headlock and giving him a gentle noogie.

"Alright, Boy Wonder, why don't we head back to the house?" John suggested. Alan raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly.

"Motocross-boy?" he repeated. John nodded.

"It's only a temporary nickname," he stated. "Given time, I'll be able to come up with something more creative."

Alan shook his head, pushing himself off the boulder and landing with his knees bent to absorb the shock. "You do that, space-case."

John eyed him dangerously, although he was secretly delighted to see that Alan had settled into their familiar pattern of banter. "What did you just call me?"

"Oh, nothing." Alan smiled innocently. "Fatty."

John sniffed self-righteously, landing on the sand beside Alan. "Fine, _be_ that way. We're just gonna have to settle this like men."

"Fine by me."

John bent forward slightly and rubbed his hands together, before reaching down to position his hands on the sand, bending one knee and stretching his right leg out behind him.

"First one back to the house gets dibs on the biggest pancake," John stated, as Alan mirrored his position. The younger blond nodded his head once, completely serious, and John's lips twitched. "Right. On three."

"Okay."

"One...two..."

He turned his head to the side, spitting the sand from his mouth even as he yelled, "You're such a cheat, Alan Tracy!"

Already half away up the beach, Alan just laughed.

**TBTBTB**

"No," Virgil stated, his gaze firm. "Absolutely not."

John frowned at his younger brother, watching as Virgil bent down to retrieve his toolkit, before disappearing into the forward compartment of the Mole. Stepping up to the entrance, John peered inside and gazed at Virgil, sighing as the younger man pointedly ignored his presence and continued to tinker with the circuitry of an open service panel.

"Virgil," John called softly, trying to get his attention. When there was no reply, John uncrossed his arms and stuck his head into the hatch. "Virgil!"

"What?" Virgil shot back hotly. John didn't even blink, he merely observed his brother with a slightly raised eyebrow. Virgil stood up and threw his tool into the kit with more force than was necessary, running a hand through his hair in frustration and puffing out a harsh breath. "Look, I just don't think he's ready to go back out there, okay?"

John stepped into the Mole and leaned against the wall of the compartment, crossing his arms again. "Is that your medical opinion, or your brotherly opinion?"

"And what is _that_ supposed to mean?"

John raised his hands in a defensive gesture. "Whoa there, spitfire, I was just asking!"

Virgil dropped into the driver's seat and rested his elbow on the main control panel, leaning his chin on his knuckles as he puffed out another frustrated breath.

John remained where he stood, his eyes gazing steadily at the back of Virgil's head. "I want an answer, Virgil. Are you keeping Alan off the team because he's physically unfit to participate in the rescues, or just because he's our baby brother and you couldn't bear to see him hurt again?"

The annoyance drained from Virgil's face, and he let his gaze drop to floor. This was answer enough for John. The younger Tracy, however, had more to say.

"I just want what's best for him. You and Scott grew up too fast, and you did everything you could to make sure the rest of us had as normal a childhood as possible. Dammit, Johnny, he's only fifteen. And even if he's just manning mobile control, he's still _there_. He's too young for this. I just want him to have something close to a normal life before he throws himself into International Rescue."

John sighed softly, stepping forward and perching on the edge of the console. He reached out a hand and squeezed Virgil's shoulder reassuringly.

"We all want that, Virge," he replied. "But that's not how Alan sees it. He thinks we're treating him like a little kid - which, in all fairness, we are – and he doesn't understand _why_. In his opinion, we're just segregating him from the rest of us. Again."

Virgil nodded solemnly. "I thought he might. And you know I don't do it on purpose, I just...I'm overprotective, I know that. It's hard, sometimes, to treat him like we'd want to be treated."

"Bud, we're all overprotective when it comes to the Sprout." John smiled softly. "Especially Scott. It's not only our right as older brothers, but also our duty. But we have to know when to switch it off. And I think your machine's still on at full-power. It's been that way ever since Alan first got sick."

Virgil sighed and nodded, the fingers of his free hand running lightly over the various buttons and switches on the control panel. "I know, John." he said softly. "I really can't help it. And I know that I'm being unfair on Alan in saying that he can't go on rescues. He's probably well enough by now to join the team."

"Probably?" John inquired. Virgil shrugged.

"I haven't given him a full physical in over a week," he replied, sitting back in the chair and scrubbing at his face with his hands. "Last time, the results showed that his blood-toxin levels were still a little off, which was why he wasn't allowed back on the team. But his medication should have eradicated the remainder of the antigens by now."

Sighing, the brown-haired Tracy stood to his feet. "I'll give him another physical," he said in resignation. "And if the results are good, then I'll tell Dad that he's fit for duty."

"I've got a better idea." John smiled, putting his arm around Virgil's shoulders and guiding them towards the open hatch. "Why don't we let Tom give Alan his physical? That way, if the results don't turn out so good, Alan won't think that you've tampered with them or something."

"I wouldn't do that," Virgil protested, frowning. John raised an eyebrow again, and Virgil looked back down at his feet as they stepped out onto the floor of Thunderbird 2's silo. "Okay, I would _only_ do that in an emergency."

John smirked. "An emergency like what?"

"Like when Gordon got a concussion a few months ago, d'you remember?" Virgil grinned. "And you had to man Thunderbird 4 for the rest of the rescue mission?"

John laughed and winced, pushing Virgil into the elevator before stepping into it himself and pressing the button that would take them to the correct level. "How could I forget? Dad had me training on the simulators for hours every day after that. I'd scuffed all the paint off the right-hand side, it looked awful."

Virgil nodded. "So I faked Gordon's test results and kept him in the infirmary for a day longer than was necessary so that you could fix Thunderbird 4 without him noticing."

John laughed again. "He was such a grouchy patient. And Scott was beside himself to know how to cheer him up."

Virgil nodded, smiling as he recalled the obvious '_Help!'_ look on Scott's face after unsuccessfully trying to brighten Gordon's stormy mood. In the end, the red-head had simply pulled a prank on his eldest brother, showing Virgil that he was not only feeling better, but that his sense of humour had returned. They had all been extremely pleased to have the old Gordon back. Well...with the exception of Scott, perhaps. Nobody quite knew how Gordon had obtained the super-glue with which he had sealed his brother's pants to the bedside chair, but the water-loving Tracy had managed it somehow.

As the elevator doors opened, the two men stepped out into the second floor corridor. John pulled Virgil by the arm, dragging him swiftly past the rows of storage closets, past Lady Penelope's personal bedroom, and up to the door of the fourth guest room.

"What are we doing?" Virgil asked in confusion. John rolled his eyes.

"Asking Tom to examine Alan, remember?" he asked in a tone of long-suffering, raising his fist to knock on the door.

"I doubt he's in his room, it's past ten-thirty."

"Mmm-hmm," John agreed. "And Jenny gets off duty at the training hospital around about now, even though the times are different. Tom'll be in the midst of calling her at the moment."

Virgil nodded in understanding, marvelling at the way that John seemed to know about anything and everything around them. Very little managed to elude the blond-haired astronaut's sharp gaze and fast brains, especially if it concerned friends and family members. And, other than Brains, Thomas Palmar was probably the closest thing to an uncle that the Tracy boys had ever known. Both he and his wife, Jennifer, were involved in International Rescue, and had been for many years. Jennifer, a paediatrician at the hospital where Thomas worked, had married him just over a year ago, and the boys had immediately taken a liking to her. Like Thomas, she had a wonderful sense of humour, but she also had a gentleness about her that reminded the boys of their own mother. That, plus the fact that she baked the best blueberry muffins in the world, was what had made her a perfect match for Thomas.

The only problem was that she spent one in every three months at a community hospital in Dhaka, teaching the staff how to do basic but life-saving procedures on babies and young children. Surprisingly, neither Jennifer nor Thomas seemed to mind being apart for extended periods of time. They would call each other at precisely the same time every day, even when the time differences had changed and it was late at night for Jennifer in Bangladesh. They both loved their work, and each other, which made them just about the most cheerful couple that Virgil had ever had the pleasure of meeting. In fact, come to think of it, Virgil couldn't remember a time when he had seen Thomas looking down since his marriage. His '_happy-battery'_, as Gordon called it, was always on full.

"Hey guys!" Thomas had poked his head into the hallway. His usual grin was in place and his eyes shone cheerfully. "Come on in, Jenny would love to talk to you."

John and Virgil both smiled, stepping into the doctor's bedroom and walking over to the large desk at the far end of the room, where Thomas now sat in the desk-chair. On the main computer screen, a woman's head could be seen, smiling warmly. Thomas turned to look at the boys, beckoning them closer.

"Hey Jenny, I've got a surprise for you."

"You're pregnant?" Jennifer suggested lightly, her soft English accent lilting teasingly through the speakers. John and Virgil both snorted in laughter, earning themselves a hurt glare from the male doctor. Jennifer's face lit up. "Is that John? I'm sure I just heard John. I did, didn't I? I swear that sounded like John's snort. It's very distinctive."

John laughed, stepping up behind Thomas and waving to the woman on the screen. "Hi, Jen," he greeted. "Should I be offended by your last comment?"

"Of course not." Jenny grinned, waving the suggestion away casually. "You have a lovely snort. It quite becomes you."

Virgil laughed at the look on John's face, and Jennifer's eyes shone happily. "Virgil, hurry up and say hell, you meany."

Virgil stepped up behind his brother. "Hello," he said, smiling. "There, happy now?"

Jennifer nodded. "Happy as a clam. Now," she focused her gaze on Thomas and smiled, "I'd best get going, love. I've got a board meeting with some sort of pompous medical official in the morning, and I'm going to need all the sleep I can get. I'll call you at the same time tomorrow, alright?"

"Sure thing, honey." Thomas smiled. "Take care of yourself, you hear?"

"Same goes for you." Jenny blew him a kiss. "Eat all your greens, elbows off the table, and no sliding down the banisters."

"I'll behave, I promise," the male doctor assured her.

Jenny smiled again. "Good. I'll speak to you tomorrow, love." She blew two kisses in quick succession. "Goodbye, boys!"

"Bye!" the two Tracy men called together.

Sighing in content, Thomas switched the console off, spinning around on his chair and grinning at Virgil and John happily.

"So," he said, clapping his hands together and looking up at them eagerly. "How can uncle Tom be of assistance, fellas?"

Virgil and John looked at one another for a moment, before John stepped forward slightly and lowered his voice.

"Tom," he began. "I was wondering if you could do us a little favour..."

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Alan sighed. He was totally, utterly and completely bored out of his mind. He sat perched on one of the beds in the infirmary, swinging his legs to and fro as he glanced around the room, trying to find something that would amuse him in a little bit. But there was nothing. It was the same old room, organised with the same old freakish neatness that Virgil had acquired back when he was still a young kid.

_Why can't he do something - spontaneous - for once? Why can;t he move that box over there a little to the left, so that there isn't exactly two inches between each of the boxes lining that wall. Why can't he leave a pen lying on one of the surfaces, disregarded like most normal pens are. But no, Virgil has to put it back in the right pen-holder, the one that contains either black, red or blue pens. Seriously, no wonder Gordon manages to wind him up so much. All that you need to do is switch the pens around and his whole little empire of 'freakish neatness' collapses in on itself. Hmm...that's not a bad idea, actually._

Grinning, Alan looked left and right, his eyes darting from the infirmary entrance to the side-door which lead to the small laboratory. He knew that Thomas and Virgil were in the lab, analysing his test results. They had been there for the last ten minutes. _And Virge said that it would take them fifteen. Oh yeah, there's time to mess a few things up._

Sliding off the bed, he crept quickly over to the other side of the room, grabbing the pens out of the blue pen-holder. Biting his lip to keep from laughing, he hurried over to the counter on the far side of the room, emptying the red pen-holder before quietly slipping the blue Biro's into the plastic container. Feeling victorious, he darted over to the black pen-holder, swapping the black pens for the red ones he had just acquired. And finally, returning to the blue pen-holder on the other side of the room, he placed the black pens within the pot, grinning at his own childish genius. Yes, it was immature. He knew that. But, having been subjected to Virgil's mother-hen-like ways for almost four weeks, he thought it was high time that he had a little revenge.

Sitting back down on the bed, he tried to look as though nothing had happened. And just in time, too. For, at that very moment, the door to the laboratory slid open and Virgil stepped back into the infirmary. Alan swallowed, suddenly feeling a little nervous. If the results had come back clear, he was going to be allowed to rejoin the team at last. Trying to keep the hopeful look from dominating his facial features, he smiled at Virgil in what he hoped was a casual manner. Virgil smiled back at him.

"Well, we've got the results," he said calmly. "Thomas is just double-checking the final readings. I'm, gonna call the guys down, okay? We can talk about your results then."

Alan made to protest, but Virgil had already turned away, raising his watch to his face and sending messages to the rest of his family. Alan frowned, putting his he chin in his hand and puffing out an impatient breath. _Great. More waiting. This day's just getting better and better. The results had better be good, or I swear I'm gonna mess up this infirmary so bad that no amount of organisation will be able to put it to rights._

And so Alan was forced to wait another few minutes as his family made their way down to the infirmary. If the passage of time had seemed slow before, it was nothing compared to the long, monotonous drag of those few empty minutes, in which Alan counted the number of times that the drapes blew away from the wall, having been moved by the force of the wind through the open window.

_Hmm, the window. Virge left it open today, 'cause he thinks that the air conditioning doesn't make the infirmary fresh enough. Well, he's not looking now. Perhaps I could do another disappearing act and slip out of the window without him noticing. It's not like I'm sick this time. He only freaked out last time because I had a concussion. I'm in great shape at the moment, so there's no harm in doing it, right?_

As though he had read Alan's thoughts, Virgil glanced between his youngest brother and the window, a stern frown upon his face. "Don't even _think_ about it, Alan," he said firmly. "You may not be hurt at the moment, but that doesn't mean that you can go attempting ridiculous feats just because you're bored."

Alan blinked, surprised at how effortlessly his older brother picked up what he was thinking. "You're not human."

Virgil raised an eyebrow, but refrained from comment, instead turning away and walking back into the laboratory. Alan frowned at his brother's retreating back. Virgil seemed to be in a rather serious mood all of a sudden. Was there something wrong with his test results? Maybe - maybe the virus had come back.

"Alan!"

The blond-haired teenager looked towards the doorway, where Scott stood, looking at Alan in surprise and concern. Walking swiftly up to the bed, he sat down beside Alan and ran his eyes over the younger man's body, clearly searching for an injury of some sort.

"What's the matter, Sprout?" he asked worriedly. "Are you alright?"

Alan frowned. "_Stop_ asking me that."

"Hey, it was a reasonable question," Scott replied. "After all, you don't usually expect to find somebody in the infirmary unless they're either hurt or sick. So which one are you?"

"Neither," Alan replied. "I'm waiting for Virge to give me the results of my tests."

"What tests?"

"Spelling tests, Scott. I've decided to enter the national spellathon and I'm representing Wharton Academy this season."

Scott prodded his brother in the ribs. "You seem to be suffering from an excess of sarcasm, kiddo."

Alan turned to look at the door once again, and spotted Gordon and John standing just inside the infirmary entrance. The two men stepped up to the bedside, Gordon wearing a slight frown.

"What's going on here?" he asked. "Alan, what's the matter? Are you alright?"

Alan groaned, shooting John a despairing glance. "Would you relax?" he complained. "I'm only getting the results of my labs back."

Suddenly, the infirmary doors swished open again, and Jeff stepped into the room.

"Did I miss anything?"

"Nope, you're right on time," the younger man replied, sticking his head in through the lab door. "Tom, you ready?"

"Yup!" came the cheerful reply, and moments later Thomas Palmar stepped back into the room, an electronic data-pad clutched in one hand. Striding up to the bed, he handed the pad to Jeff, who took it casually and peered down at the results, scrolling down the pages of notes.

"You know, Tom, I'm sure that this is all very interesting," he said, smiling slightly. "But I don't actually understand what most of this stuff _means_."

Thomas chuckled, taking the pad back off Jeff and scrolling all the way down to the bottom. Handing it back to him, he pointed out the final sentence of the last paragraph, watching as understanding dawned in Jeff's eyes.

"Oh. I see," the Tracy patriarch said softly, glancing up at Alan briefly, a flicker of something unreadable passing over his face.

Alan felt his heartbeat begin to quicken within his chest. What was wrong with his results? Why was everybody acting so seriously? Was he still sick? Had Virgil been right about his state of health? Swallowing in order to quell the butterflies in his stomach, Alan clenched his hands into fists and sat up a little straighter, readying himself to accept the harsh reality of the truth, if and when he was informed about it. And, he mused, somebody had better speak up fairly soon.

Because that open window was beginning to look more and more tempting by the second.

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_**Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it!**_

_**Reviews? :)**_

_**xox**_


	6. Chapter 6: On Pins and Promises

_**Look at that, I'm early! I guess your oh-so-awesome reviews needed a suitable reward. *grins***_

_**Now please, read on and enjoy!**_

_**Oh, and P.S.-**__** This chapter is dedicated to **__**Lissysue85**__**, for her ongoing support throughout the test period this week – thanks, babe! **_

_**

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**_

Alan fidgeted on the bed nervously as he waited for his father to say something. He glanced across at Gordon, who was standing behind Thomas and peering over the older man's shoulder so that he could read the contents of the data-pad. Alan frowned slightly when he saw the corners of his brother's mouth twitch upwards.

_What's so funny? If it's bad news, Gords wouldn't be trying to hide his smile like that, would he? So - so it's good news then? But if the results are good, why does Dad look so serious all of a sudden? He wanted the results to be good, so why did he look at me like that a few seconds ago? Something's not quite right about the way he's acting._

Jeff inhaled deeply and straightened up, moving to stand directly in front of the bed where Alan sat. Keeping his face serious and free of emotion, he let his hands hang loosely at his sides, placing his feet slightly apart as he cleared his throat.

"Positions, boys!"

Alan raised an eyebrow in confusion as his four older brothers all moved to stand in a line, a few paces behind Jeff. Scott stood on the far right, back straight and arms clasped behind his back, feet shoulder-width apart as he gazed at Alan with an expression of forced neutrality. John stood beside him, his stance similar to that of Scott's other than the fact that he wore a gentle smile on his face, and his blue eyes sparkled with amusement. Beside the blond-haired astronaut stood Virgil, his face unreadable as he adopted the same stance as his older siblings. And on the far left stood Gordon, grinning like a demented wombat and, although his limbs were positioned exactly as his brothers' were, he held himself less stiffly, and his facial expression eradicated all pretence of formality. Alan found himself smiling at the aquanaut, despite his confusion over the whole situation.

Jeff cleared his throat again, and Gordon managed to lessen his manic grin somewhat.

"There are times," Jeff began, but then paused, frowning slightly. Slowly, he turned his head around to look across the room, where Thomas stood leaning against the wall. The doctor was studying the data-pad intently, seemingly unaware of everything that was happening around him.

"Tom!" Jeff hissed, his formal mask slipping off as he rolled his eyes in exasperation at his old friend. The other man looked up, vaguely surprised, and Jeff beckoned him over with a jerk of his head. "Positions!"

"Oh, right," Thomas hissed back. "Sorry."

Slipping the data-pad into his lab coat pocket, he hurriedly crept over to stand beside Gordon, adopting the same stance as the other men in the line. Alan had to try very hard not to laugh at the doctor's failed attempts to look stern and serious. Jeff nodded and turned back towards Alan, clearing his throat again.

"There are times," he repeated, as though beginning an inspiring speech. "When-"

"Commander, sir?"

Jeff sighed dramatically, turning back around again to look at Thomas, who had his hand stuck up in the air quite calmly, as though it were the most normal thing in the world.

"What?" the Tracy patriarch asked in a long-suffering tone of voice.

Thomas pointed to Gordon with a slight frown upon his face. "How come I'm stuck at _this_ end of the line? It's going in age order, right? So I should be standing at the top-end next to Scott, not down here next to a guy who's not legally old enough to by alcohol. It's insulting."

Jeff sighed loudly as the other family members - with the exception of Gordon - grinned in amusement. The copper-haired Tracy frowned at Thomas and mumbled a less-than-eloquent reply under his breath.

"Then go stand next to Scott," Jeff suggested in an overly-patient tone of voice.

Thomas grinned victoriously, turning to Gordon with an expression of barely suppressed glee. "Ha!" he laughed, poking the aquanaut in the chest, before moving round the back of the line and standing on the far right-hand side next to Scott. Jeff shook his head at his friend's immature actions, turning back towards Alan once again.

"There are times," he began again, "when the forces of this world fight back against us. There are times when we our desire to serve others is hindered by injury or illness. There are times when things don't go according to plan, and we must stand aside and allow others to take on the responsibility for us. But know this: love conquers all. Similarly, we can battle through every difficulty we encounter, just as long as we work together as a team - as a family. And your recovery, Alan, is another battle won for us. It's about time I gave back something that belongs to you."

Alan smiled softly at his father's sincere expression, trying to ignore the fact that his four older brothers had been mouthing along to most of the words. They had obviously heard this speech before. Jeff cleared his throat and stepped aside, allowing Scott to step up to the bed. The eldest Tracy-son grinned at Alan, before forcing a more serious expression to fall into place.

"I, as your field commander, hereby reinstate you as an active member of International Rescue," he stated, smiling slightly as he reached into his pocket and withdrew Alan's International Rescue pin. He took his younger brother's hand and placed the pin onto his palm, closing Alan's fingers around it and grasping the clenched fist gently. "Welcome back, Sprout."

Alan blinked in surprise, before a joyful smile slowly spread across his face. Looking up at Scott, he grinned at him happily, and the older man responded by pulling Alan into a tight embrace. After a moment, Alan began to laugh, his heart feeling lighter than it had been in a long while. He gently pushed Scott away and hopped off the bed, allowing his father to step up to his side and pull him into a one-armed hug.

"I'm proud of you, son," Jeff said fondly. "Never forget that."

Alan was about to make a cheeky comment, but was interrupted by an audible and exaggerated sniff coming from where the rest of the group were standing. Thomas, who had remained silent for many minutes now (which, Alan mused, was quite an achievement), was pretending to dab away at an imaginary tear with his handkerchief.

"Sorry, guys," the doctor choked. "But that speech was just so beautiful! I've never felt so happy!"

Turning to John, he gave an almighty sniff and let his breath out in a pretend sob, throwing his arms open wide.

"John," he gasped. "Hold me!"

John merely raised an eyebrow as the older man practically collapsed on top of him, breaking into a fresh round of fake-sobs. Gordon was beside himself with laughter, clinging onto the counter with one hand in a futile attempt to stay on his feet. Unsurprisingly, as the doctor's loud 'sobs' rose up an octave, Gordon fell to the floor in utter hysterics. Even Scott had lost all pretence of dignity, as he and Virgil howled with laughter at John's blank expression. Alan just grinned at the spectacle, still too surprised to digest the hilarity of what was going on before him. Jeff stood beside him, his arm still hanging across Alan's shoulders as he chuckled humorously at Thomas' antics.

At last, Thomas straightened up and wiped the 'tears' from his eyes, taking in a slow breath. Clapping John on the shoulder, he let out a puff of air and smiled in what was supposed to be a 'shaky' fashion.

"Thanks, man."

John merely cleared his throat and straightened his T-shirt carefully, smoothing down the creases. "Any time."

Gordon, who had only just recovered from his last fit, burst out laughing again, making a series of strange noises as he tried, and failed, to say something. Thomas looked down at him and shook his head.

"Ignore him," he instructed, turning back towards Jeff, "and he might just go away."

Gordon tried to shoot a glare at his brothers as they all laughed, but the effect was ruined by the fact that his face was as red as his hair, and that there were tears of laughter streaming down his cheeks. Jeff rolled his eyes and released Alan, moving to stand over Gordon with his arms folded in front of him.

"Why is it that every time I try and do that speech, you end up on the floor?" he sighed. He extended a hand to help Gordon up, and the younger man gladly took it, heaving himself to his feet.

"Maybe because it's so-" Gordon began, but stopped himself before he said something that he would later regret. Instead, he swallowed and cleared his throat. "So _inspiring_, Dad. It makes me go weak at the knees."

Alan smiled, leaning against the side of the bed and gazing down at the pin in his hand. His brother's playful chatter rolled over him, his attention focused on the intricate design of the object that rested on his palm. This smooth, metallic surface felt cool to the touch, and it glinted slightly as it caught the light. This pin was more than just a pin. It signified more than just the fact that he was back 'on-duty'. It emphasised the fact that he was once again a part of the Thunderbirds team, not just some sick teenager stuck at home. His brothers were his equals, not his overprotective mother-hens. Yes. Alan Tracy was back in action.

"Alan?"

The blond-haired Tracy straightened and looked up, his eyes locking with the emerald green ones of his older brother. Gordon grinned at him, indicating Thomas and Jeff with a nod of his head.

"And they call _us_ immature," he remarked, as Jeff began to complain about Thomas '_ruining the moment_'. The doctor was retaliating by slipping in embarrassing comments about their past lives together, as John and Scott stood by, eagerly lapping up the information and storing it away to use as ammo at a later date.

Chuckling, Alan slipped the pin into the pocket of his shorts, running his fingers along the smooth surface one last time before withdrawing the hand and leaning back against the side of the bed once more. Gordon came to stand beside him, crossing his arms over his chest casually and allowing his gaze to wonder over to where the Tracy patriarch and the old family friend were still firing insults at each other, much to the amusement of the two eldest Tracy-sons.

"So," Gordon began softly, as he watched Thomas throw his hands up into the air in obvious exasperation. "What did you think of Dad's speech?"

Alan shrugged. "Dunno." In truth, he had quite like the words his father had spoken. The older man had clearly been speaking from the heart, and that had really meant a lot to Alan, knowing that his father - despite being concerned for Alan's welfare - was still proud to have him as a member of the team.

"You gotta admit, it could've been a lot worse." the red-head commented. Alan smirked.

"Yeah, you could've written it instead." he suggested. Gordon elbowed him in the arm, before grabbing him in a headlock and rubbing his knuckles into Alan's scalp. Alan grunted, struggling against his older brother until the aquanaut finally released him.

"Stupid," the younger teenager muttered, grinning as he smoothed down his ruffled blond hair. Gordon regarded him with a slightly raised eyebrow.

"Was that supposed to be an insult?" he inquired mildly. When Alan's grin widened, he shook his head sadly. "That was pathetic, kid. So, so pathetic."

Alan chuckled, punching his brother on the arm gently. "So," he sighed. "How many times have you guys heard this speech, then?"

"Ooh, I dunno - about seven or eight," Gordon replied calmly. Seeing Alan's surprised expression, he laughed softly. "He says the exact same thing whenever one of us is reinstated after being badly injured on a rescue." he explained. "You just haven't heard it before because you've always been at school when all the major accidents have happened. And John wasn't allowed back on-duty until at least a week after Spring break, remember? So you've been spared Dad's little speech up until now."

Alan nodded. Yes, he remembered. He remembered feeling the gut-clenching worry whenever his father had called him at Wharton's with the news that one of his brothers had been injured out on a rescue. He remembered sitting up at the desk in his dorm room for hours at a time, holding his cell phone in his hands and waiting for further updates on his sibling's health. He would have sat through a thousand speeches just to have been able to be at home whilst his brothers were recuperating. But instead he had been forced to silently endure the gripping fear and worry that filled his chest during every dangerous rescue mission. Oh yes, Alan Tracy remembered it all.

"Of course," Gordon added, dragging Alan out of his own thoughts and back into the present situation. "Tom was never there for any of _those_ speeches. Trust me, this has by far been the most entertaining of the lot of them."

Alan laughed softly, clapping Gordon on the back, his eyes searching the room for his other brothers. When his search only revealed two out of the three siblings, he frowned slightly, nudging Gordon to get his attention.

"Where's Virgil?" he asked quietly. Gordon looked up, glancing around the room, and shrugged nonchalantly.

"Probably went to go and tell Fermat and Tin-Tin that we're done." he explained. "We invited them to come join us, but they both said that you'd probably appreciate it better if it was just family."

Alan smiled, making a mental note to thank his friends later on. But something else was nagging at the back of his mind. He had this - this _feeling _that something was wrong with the middle Tracy-son. He needed to go and talk to Virgil. Now.

"I'm gonna go see where he's got to," Alan stated casually, pushing himself away from the bed and running his fingers through his hair. "I'll see you later."

Slipping out of the infirmary, he made his way down the corridor. He had a very goo idea as to where Virgil had disappeared off to. After all, this was Virgil. He wasn't exactly the most spontaneous of Alan's brothers. Other than John, he was probably the most predictable guy that Alan had ever met. But that was somewhat comforting. It made him far more - dependable.

Alan stopped just outside the entrance to the living room, spotting Virgil's piano on the raised platform to the left of the doorway. To his surprise, his brother was not there. Alan frowned slightly. _That's weird. Well, Alan, I guess you don't know your brothers as well as you thought you did. On the other hand, Virge is kinda acting strange at the moment. Maybe he's decided to be spontaneous for once. Let me see, where could he have escaped to? I'll rule out the beach, Virgil doesn't go down there as often as the rest of us do. I don't quite know why. I guess he just prefers to stay around the villa. Well, when I say stay around the villa, what I really mean is stay around __**us**__. He's probably too paranoid that once of us will get hurt in his absense. _

Rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, Alan sighed. Then he paused, a thoughtful expression passing over his face as a small knowing smile graced his features. _Of course. Where's the one place that Virgil always used to go to when he needed time to think on his own? Why didn't I think of that before? I'm a moron._

Feeling confident that his predictions would, this time, prove to be correct, Alan turned around and headed towards the front of the villa, opening one of the bay sliding doors and stepping out into the bright sunshine. Squinting slightly, he blinked until his eyes had adjusted to the light, then continued on down the steps and around the pool, making his way towards the one place where he was sure Virgil would be hiding.

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Virgil Tracy watched the slow and steady progression of the yellow-tip beetle as it crawled along the wooden floor panels. The insect-repelling vibrators that Brains had installed within the walls and floor of the tree-house clearly weren't strong enough to deter this little guy. The bug was slowly but surely making its way towards the wooden hatch on the other side of the room, to the freedom of the open world. And it was getting there through what appeared to be pure determination. _Huh, kinda like Alan. That kid's so darn stubborn._

The thought made Virgil smiled slightly. Yes, Alan's character certainly did display the same stubborn characteristics as that of his eldest brother. Perhaps this was because Scott had raised Alan almost single-handedly for almost thirteen months following the death of Lucille Tracy In a way, Scott had been Alan's father figure, and the young five-year-old had all but worshipped the ground on which he stood. As was the norm with most children at that age, Alan has naturally sought out a role-model, and this title had been given to Scott at a very early stage. In a way, all of the younger Tracy sons had followed Scott's lead. He had always been their natural born commander.

_Better not say that in front of him, though. As if his head isn't already big enough. Besides, Gordon quickly gave up on having Scott as his role-model; said he wasn't funny enough. When Mom died, and Scott stopped being a kid, he kinda stopped pulling pranks too. But I still remember all the things that ol' Scooter and John used to get up to when I was little. The toothpaste on Dad's face was probably their greatest achievement, mainly because Tom managed to get it on tape. I don't think Dad ever had a nap in the living room again. But man, I found the whole thing so hilarious! I mean, I was only what - seven? But I still remember it the look on Dad's face when he saw that Tom was holding a vid-cam. That was classic._

Sighing, Virgil leaned his head back against the wooden wall, his gaze wandering upwards to stare at the ceiling, where the hatch to the roof hung open. _Hmm, I guess John was in here last night, then. I might've guessed. If he's not star-gazing on his balcony, he's lying on his sleeping bag in here, just sleeping under the comforting watch of the stars. Hang on - what the heck am I saying? I sound like some pansy romantic loser. _

"Virge?"

Virgil jumped, startled, as Alan's disembodied head suddenly appeared before him. The younger Tracy threw one of his arms over the hatch and used the floorboards to heave himself up into the tree-house.

"Hey kiddo," Virgil greeted softly, smiling. "What's up?"

Alan stood up and brushed himself off, before coming over to the other side of the room to sit on the bench beside his older brother.

"I was about to ask you the same question," he stated. Resisting one of his feet on the bench, he brought his knee up to his chest, resting his arm atop the limb and peering over it at Virgil. "What's up with you?"

"Nothing. What makes you think that something's wrong?"

Alan smirked, resting his chin on his arm as he gazed steadily at the brown-haired Tracy. "Virge, you're my brother. The whole mind-reading thing is a sixth sense that I inherited from the rest of you guys. I know when something's bothering you."

Virgil sighed. _Damn, he's good. Scott taught him well._

"And besides," Alan continued softly. "I don't really need to _ask_ you what the matter is. I already know."

Virgil smiled and raised a questioning eyebrow. "Oh you do, do ya?"

Alan nodded. "Yup. It's not really all that difficult to work out, ya know. It's simple; you're thinking about the possibility of me getting hurt on a rescue, right?"

Virgil smiled softly and dropped his head. "How d'you do that, Sprout?" he murmured. "It really freaks me out sometimes."

Alan laughed softly. "I wouldn't say that if I were you, bro, 'cause I learnt it from you."

This time, it was Virgil's turn to laugh. "In that case, it's totally acceptable."

"But seriously, Virge," Alan said quietly, his face becoming grave once more. "Is that really what's bothering you?"

Virgil hesitated slightly, before nodding very slowly and letting out a long sigh. "I can't help it. It's my job to protect you - to look after you. But how am I supposed to do that during a rescue? More often than not, we'll be doing different jobs in different areas, and they'll be no way to keep you safe. I just don't like the idea of you walking blindly into danger."

Alan raised an eyebrow. "Who said anything about 'walking blindly' into danger?" he said, defensively. "Virge, I'm not an idiot. I admit, I was a complete jerk before the whole Hood incident, and Dad had good reason to keep me off the team back then – I _was_ only fourteen, and a kid in every sense of the word. But I grew up. I'm a member of this organisation now, Virge. And when we're on a rescue, you have to treat me as an equal, not as your kid brother. Otherwise the whole team falls apart. The minute you start worrying over me, you put your own life at risk. And I won't let you do that."

Virgil was surprised by the seriousness in his brother's voice. Alan certainly didn't sound anything like the immature teenager he had once been, all those months ago when the family had thought Tracy Island to be safe from any intruders. But Alan was right, he _had_ grown up since then. However, that didn't make Virgil's worry any easier to bear. Turning to face his younger sibling, he put his hands on Alan's shoulders and gazed into his aqua-blue orbs.

"Alan, I want you to promise me something, alright?" he asked softly. Alan nodded ever so slightly, understanding that Virgil was being deadly serious. "You've gotta promise me that you'll obey an order in a heartbeat when we're on a mission, even if it means running to safety and leaving us behind. No heroics, no risks, no spontaneous decisions - at least not without running it by me or Scotty first. And don't, under any circumstances, leave Mobile Control. Well, unless your life is in danger, then you run for the hills like there's no tomorrow."

Alan smiled fondly and nodded again. "Deal. But on one condition."

The middle Tracy sat up a little straighter, curious. "Oh? And what's that?"

Smiling slightly, Alan settled back against the wall and rested his head on the wooden boards. Glancing at Virgil momentarily, he sighed softly and flashed his older brother a dazzling cheeky grin, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief.

"I get dibs on the biggest cookie at lunch."

* * *

_**So all is right on Tracy Island. But how long will the peace and quiet last? **_

_**See you soon!**_

_**xox**_


	7. Chapter 7: Rocky Falls and Rescue Calls

_**Hey guys!**_

_**It's Wednesday and I'm here, as promise. It's a bloomin' miracle! Well actually, the real miracle is that you guys have managed to be patient waiting for this chapter. Only one or two prods in the back this time, well done everyone! Lol.**_

_**Enjoy. :) **_

_**

* * *

**_

Alan felt his sneakers slip on a patch of seaweed, and he waved his arms about in an attempt to regain his balance, his heart lurching within him for one awful moment as he fought against gravity. Fermat ducked so as to avoid being knocked out by his friend's wild flailing.

"Do you mind?" the younger teenager asked mildly. "Or d-d-do you really hate me so much that you want to kill me?"

Alan, who had managed to steady himself, grinned down at his best friend. "Nah, you're okay I guess."

"Thanks," Fermat drawled. "Now I f-feel _really_ appreciated."

Alan sniffed a grin and jumped onto an adjoining rock that looked less dangerous, glancing at his surroundings and shielding his eyes against the bright glow of the late afternoon sun. The waves crashed gently against the sandy shore, and echoed in the hollow rock of the small cave further down the beach. The cool breeze wafted gently around him, rippling through his light shirt and cooling his skin, carrying with it the damp, salty fragrance of the warm ocean. He inhaled deeply, smiling. He loved being home.

"Alan, Fermat, c'mon!" a familiar voice called.

Alan grinned and punched Fermat's arm lightly, a wordless message they were both accustomed to, and raced his friend across the shoreline. Tin-Tin laughed at their antics and shook her head. He smiled at the way her dark hair blew around her face, her eyes sparkling with laughter and excitement. Alan came to crouch down beside her, their knees almost touching as she shuffled forwards and pointed into the shallows of the rock pool.

"See?"

Alan bent closer, following her line of sight, and spotted what had caught her interest. "What the heck is it?" he asked, cocking his head to the side so that he could survey the creature at a better angle.

Tin-Tin sent him a look of female long-suffering. "It's a starfish. Can't you tell?"

"_That's_ a starfish?" Alan repeated. "Are you sure? It sure doesn't _look_ like a starfish. And it's huge! What does that thing eat, sharks or something?"

Tin-Tin rolled her eyes at his dramatics. "Not all starfish are the same, Alan. Some, like this one, have nine arms and can reach up to three feet in length."

"It's gotta be the size of a service hatch!" Alan continued, reaching out a finger to poke at it carefully. "Where'd it come from?"

"The ocean," Fermat interjected, having just arrived at Alan's side and spotted the whitish-grey sea creature in the water. "Or outer space. D-don't ask me which."

Alan elbowed him lightly. "Dude, I'm serious. What if nobody's seen this species before? Gordon used to photograph and catalogue every little aspect of marine-life around the island. I doubt he would've missed a specimen this big. D'you think it's newly adapted to this area or something?"

Tin-Tin shrugged. "Could be. Why don't you snap a picture of it and ask him later."

"Good idea." Alan slipped his hand into his pocket and tugged out his cell phone.

"Guys, we'd better g-g- we should probably head back," Fermat stated, looking down at his watch. "It's n-n- almost time for dinner."

"Yeah, I guess." Alan murmured, glancing between the starfish in the rock pool and the smaller image on his phone. "Hey guys, d'you think it'll still be here later this evening?"

"Should be." Tin-Tin said, standing up and brushing the dirt off her shorts. "It won't move until the tide has come in far enough to pull it back out to sea. Unless a predator comes along and eats it, but that's unlikely. See those little spines? They're as tough as the shell of a crustacean; the only way to kill it is by attacking its underside."

Satisfied that he would have another chance to study the freaky-looking creature in more detail – and drag Gordon along if his brother hadn't seen it before - Alan followed after the other two teenagers as they began to walk back over the rocks towards the sandy area of the beach.

"You know, I think you might be right about it being a new species to the island," she mused, glancing back towards the rock pool as she hopped from one dry patch to another. "Virgil spotted a peculiar-looking bird just the other day, he thinks it might be-"

She cried out in surprise as her foot suddenly slipped from underneath her, the rubbery soles of her sneakers squeaking on the wet surface of the rock. Her right foot took all the weight, and the sudden transition threw her off balance. She toppled sideways, landing sprawled on her side with right leg underneath her.

"Tin-Tin!" Alan exclaimed, skidding on seaweed as he sprinted over to where she had fallen. Dropping to his knees beside her, he tried to help her into a sitting position.

"Alan, I'm fine." she protested, her voice tight and pain-filled as she pushed his hands away. "I can get up on my own."

She proceeded to attempt to do so. 'Attempt' being the operative word. As she moved to stand to her feet, her ankle suddenly gave way and she fell back down again with a cry of pain. Clutching the affected joint with both her hands, she brought her knee up to her chest and took in a shaky breath.

"Tin?" Alan ventured softly, shooting Fermat a worried glance as the younger boy dropped down beside them.

"I'm...I'm okay," came the soft response from behind Tin-Tin's knee. "I just landed funny. I'll be fine in a minute."

"Let me see." Alan gently pushed Tin-Tin's hands away from the ankle and carefully straightened out her leg, leaning the heel of the foot on his bent knee. "Is it just your ankle that hurts?"

Tin-Tin nodded, blinking back the tears of pain that had sprung to her eyes. Alan resisted the urge to brush one away as it fell down her cheek. Swiping a hand across her face, the Malaysian girl tried to withdraw her leg.

"Alan, it's nothing. Really."

"Just let me look," the blond pressed, carefully easing Tin-Tin's shoe off and supporting the weight of her leg of his knee. Having suffered from many sprains and strains himself running track (and from being generally accident-prone), Alan knew quite a lot about these sort of injuries. He knew that strains, although very painful at the time, were nothing that an icepack and a day or so of rest wouldn't fix. Sprains, on the other hand, were a little more of a problem. They could keep you off your feet for days, sometimes even weeks, depending on the severity of the damage done. And of course, there was always the possibility that Tin-Tin might have fractured one of the bones in her ankle. Alan prayed that this would not be the case.

"Well," he said finally, his fingers gently probing the pressure points on her ankle, "it's gonna swell up like a watermelon if we don't get it under ice, but I don't think it's broken. Virge'll probably want to do an x-ray, just in case."

Tin-Tin sighed and nodded, trying to get to her feet again. "I guess we'd better get back, then."

Alan hastily stood, before bending down and helping her to gain her feet. Putting one of Tin-Tin's arms around his shoulders, he slipped one of his own around her waist so that he could help to support the weight.

"Lean on me, Tin. I gotcha."

Tin-Tin looked up at him, and their eyes met briefly. Two spots of pink appeared on her olive-brown cheeks, and she quickly looked away. Feeling his heartbeat increasing, Alan cleared his throat nervously and looked down to hide his own blush.

"Right," he mumbled. "Off we go."

As Alan helped Tin-Tin to hobble back down the beach, he didn't miss the smirk that Fermat sent his way. Knowing that he was in for a colossal teasing session later on, Alan sighed and shook his head.

_Well, you win some, you lose some. And, from my point of view, I think I won this time. After all, I have Tin-Tin's arm around my shoulder. Aw heck, Alan, stop it! There's nothing going on between us. She's just a really, really close friend. Yeah, that's all she is. Okay, maybe I think that she's kinda cute, but still, who wouldn't? With a laugh like that, and that little smile of hers, and the way her eyes sparkle when she's surprised..._

_No! No, she's my friend. Just my friend. Nothing more._

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"Die, you green-blooded alien freak! Die!"

Alan paused on his way down the corridor and raised an eyebrow as his older brother's war-cry emanated from the open doorway up ahead. Smiling, he crept up to the games room, poking his head around the door and biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing at the sight that greeted him. Gordon and Fermat both sat on the floor in front of the main couch, their eyes glued to the giant screen on the far wall as they pointed their electronic control-guns at the images on the screen.

"Look out!" Fermat hissed, wincing in expectation as a large green alien jumped out of the doorway beside Gordon's character. Before the red-head had a chance to react, the creature had raised one of its tentacled hands and skewered Gordon's soldier through the chest.

"Aw crap," Gordon groaned, sighing loudly as the screen announced his death. "Not again."

"Relax." Fermat grinned. "You've still got those bonus points left over from the last round. You can be k-k-destroyed as many times as you like, and you'll still end up beating me."

At that, Gordon seemed to brighten up a little, pressing the button to reload his gun as his new character appeared in the screen. "You know what, Fermat? You're right. I _am_ gonna win this round. Prepare to be annihilated!"

"I'd be careful, Gordo," Alan warned, leaning against the doorframe and crossing his arms. "You're good, but you're not _that_ good."

Gordon glanced up from the screen long enough to shoot Alan a glare. "Hey, watch it," he warned. "You only got your pin back a couple of days ago. Virgil would hate to have to take it back off you again so soon."

Alan straightened up, playfully defensive. "And why would he need to do that?"

"Because," Gordon replied, flashing Alan one of his cheeky grins, "if you don't start respecting your elders, I'm gonna have to teach you some manners. And there's no way that Dad will let you back on the team when he sees what's left of you."

"Alright, pea-brain," Alan beckoned him closer, spreading his arms, "bring it on,"

Gordon shook his head, his eyes still fixed on the computerised character before him. "Can't. I've gotta beat Fermat first. Maybe later, kid. Now hush up, I'm tryin' to concentrate."

"Concentrate on what?" Fermat asked. "On losing? F-f-go right ahead."

"Oooh, you'll pay for that, squirt," Gordon drawled. "I'll get my revenge. Just you watch me."

At that precise moment, another alien creature dropped down from a platform above Gordon's character and screamed shrilly, sending a rippling blue light through the soldier's body. Gordon let out a cry of frustrated disbelief as the screen announced yet another death.

"Well," Fermat smiled brightly, "I did watch you. Nice job, Gordon. You're really g-g-getting the hang of this 'revenge' stuff."

Gordon shot the younger boy a glare, and Fermat just grinned in response, pushing his glasses further up his nose and firing once more at the screen, successfully transforming the alien into a large pile of green goo as it semi-exploded in front of him.

Alan smiled as he pushed himself away from the doorframe and stepped into the room, manoeuvring himself around the many beanbags and armchairs until he was standing behind the couch. It was then that he noticed the figure who was propped up against the cushions, her legs stretched out and resting on a stool in front of the couch, one ankle covered in a towel-wrapped frozen gel pack.

"Hey, Tin," Alan greeted. "Aren't you getting tired of watching these two squabble like an old married couple?"

The young Malaysian girl turned to look up at him and shrugged, brushing a stray lock of hair from her eyes. "Well, I figured it was better than being fussed over by the others. It's very sweet and all, but it was all getting a little too much."

"How's the ankle, anyway?" Alan asked, climbing over the back of the couch and sitting down beside her, perhaps a little closer than he had initially intended.

However, Tin-Tin didn't seem to find this level of contact uncomfortable. And, Alan mused, he didn't mind it so much either.

"Still the same as it was when you asked me at dinner," she replied teasingly. Then she sighed and glanced towards the affected joint. "Nothing's broken, the x-ray confirmed that. It's just a bad sprain. Virgil says I have to stay off it for a day or two, if I can."

Suddenly, she yawned widely, covering her mouth with a hand.

Alan smiled gently. "You tired?".

"No," Tin-Tin murmured sleepily. "I was just yawning for the fun of it."

Alan grinned, rolling his eyes even as the Malaysian girl ran a hand through her hair wearily. "I think I'm gonna go to bed, actually."

Fermat, who had been trying to pretend that he _wasn't_ actually listening to their conversation, spoke up at that.

"But Tin-Tin, i-it's only eight-thirty." He glanced over his shoulder to frown at her questioningly. "Oh, w-well actually," he stuttered upon seeing her weary complexion."On s-second thoughts, go to bed. You don't look so hot."

"And the subtlety prize goes to young Master Fermat Hackenbacker!" Gordon cried grandly. Shaking his head slowly, he rolled his eyes at the younger boy and sighed. "Kid, there are certain things that us guys do_ not_ say to women. That was one of them."

"Says you," Tin-Tin mumbled through her fingers as she rubbed her face. "Don't you remember that one time when you insulted Lady P in front of your father?"

Gordon blushed slightly, before firing his gun and pointlessly blowing up a barrel of oil on the screen in front of him. "I was younger then. Less experienced."

"It was only two years ago," Alan interjected, recalling the occasion with a smile. "And besides, the insult was the lesser half of it. You accidentally pushed her into the pool, remember? And she was fully-clothed."

"Well, I wasn't about to push her in butt-naked, was I?" Gordon countered lightly, waggling his eyebrows over the barrel of his gun.

"You what?"

Alan's head shot up towards the door, where Scott was standing frozen to the spot, staring at Gordon incredulously. The copper-haired Tracy grinned.

"Hey, Scott. Wanna play?"

"Gordon," Scott began coolly, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the doorframe, unknowingly mirroring the exact same position that Alan had adopted only a few minutes earlier. "What's all this I hear about you and butt-naked women?"

Fermat and Alan, who had been having a very hard time trying not to laugh, gave up at this point. Scott raised an eyebrow at them as they sagged in their respective seats, clutching at their midriffs, Fermat unknowingly shooting members of his own team instead of the aliens as he tried and failed to continue playing the game through his hysterics.

"Don't fret, Scotty," Alan assured him, once he had regained control of his breathing patterns. "Gordon was just making another lame joke."

"Hey!" Gordon protested, turning around and frowning at his younger brother. "My jokes are _not_ lame!"

"Nooo."

Gordon huffed moodily and turned back towards the screen, venting out his frustration upon the aliens. However, he let his gun fall onto his lap as he stared at the screen in open-mouthed shock.

"Sco-ott!" he whined, pointing at the far right-hand corner of the screen, where his bar of life-points showed a decrease of seven units. "You made me lose!"

Fermat laughed nervously. "A-actually, that was me. Sorry. Guess I got a little bit c-carried away, huh?"

"A little?" Gordon exclaimed. "Fermat, you wasted seven of my men! You little cheat! This means war."

And without further comment, Gordon pointed his control-gun towards the far side of the screen, where Fermat's character was standing, and fired. Fermat let out a cry of protest, pushing Gordon's gun with one hand as he raised his own weapon towards the screen and pulled the trigger - the gun aimed directly at Gordon's team captain.

"Ha! Take that!"

Lowering the weapon, he turned towards Gordon and crossed his arms over his chest, smirking at the copper-haired Tracy victoriously. Alan and Scott both burst out laughing as the aquanaut's mouth fell open. Then Gordon's lips twitched slightly, and an evil smile spread over his face.

"So that's the way you wanna play it, huh?" he inquired in a dangerously low voice. "Alright then, buster. You asked for it."

"Asked for what?" Fermat inquired casually, smiling upon seeing the playful glint in the older man's eye.

Gordon carefully set down his gun on the floor in front of him, before cracking his knuckles and rubbing his hands together as if in preparation for a fight. Fermat also discarded his plastic weapon, knowing that it would only cause more harm than good, and readied himself for the inevitable attack. Scott and Alan watched the scene with barely suppressed amusement on their faces, having decided (for their own safety) that intervening was not a wise course of action.

Suddenly, Gordon lunged forward, grabbing Fermat in a headlock and rubbing his knuckles into the boy's scalp. Fermat laughed as he tried to fight him off - but to no avail. In desperation, he managed to twist his head around far enough so that his eyes met with Alan's.

"Dude, condition r-red!" he gasped, kicking desperately. "I repeat, condition red! Dive, dive, dive!"

With a nod, Alan catapulted himself from the couch and onto Gordon's back, successfully extracting his older brother from around his friend's neck. Using his body weight to pin the taller Tracy beneath him, he grinned down into the copper-top's surprised face.

"Mission accomplished."

The aquanaut raised an eyebrow. "Well, that was...weird." He pushed his hands against his brother's shoulders, trying to dislodge Alan from on top of him. When the boy did not budge, he reached around and jabbed him in the side. "Okay, you win. Now get off me."

"Actually," Alan smiled, leaning his elbow painfully on Gordon's chest and sighing in an exaggerated fashion, "I'm kinda comfy where I am. Just ignore me, I'll keep quiet. You won't even know I'm here."

Despite Gordon's annoyance at his little brother's persistence, he couldn't help but crack a smile. "It's kinda tough to ignore you, munchkin. You ain't exactly a feather pillow. Now shift. Move. Budge! I mean it, Alan!"

"Hmm-? Uh, what?" Alan inquired, as though he hadn't heard anything that Gordon had just said. "Oh, sorry Gords. Kinda nodded off there. You see, there was this monotonous droning in my ear that sounded distinctly like you, and for some _unknown_ reason it just bored me to death."

Gordon growled in his throat, grabbing Alan shoulders and rolling forcefully onto his side, pulling Alan along with him. Within a split second, Gordon had Alan pinned beneath him.

"Shouldn't have done that, kid."

Alan twisted around so that he could glance up at his eldest brother, who had been leaning against the side of the couch and silently watching the younger Tracy sons grapple with each other, wearing an expression of fond amusement.

"Scotty, Gordon's bullying me," Alan whined, his tone childish and pathetic, putting on an exaggerated pout. "And you're just gonna stand there and let it happen?"

Scott sniffed a grin. "Maybe."

"But Scott-ee!"

The eldest brother sighed, stepping forward and frowning at Gordon in mock-anger. "Honestly, Gordon, you should know better! Hurting your little brother like that - it's disgraceful!"

"Hey! He was the one who had _me_ pinned a few moments ago!" Gordon complained, poking Alan in the chest to emphasise his point - which resulted in the teenager letting out a high-pitched squeak of protest. "I didn't see you coming to _my_ rescue!"

Scott shrugged. "You never asked for my help," he replied evenly, nudging Gordon with the toe of his sandal. "Now, let the kid go before you suffocate him. You don't want me to start counting, do you?"

Gordon frowned and shook his head. "This is hair-colour discrimination," he grumbled. "It's because I'm red, isn't it?"

Scott rolled his eyes, reaching down and wrapping his arms around Gordon's waist, pulling backwards and successfully hauling the teenager off of Alan's chest. Smiling and patting Gordon on the cheek as he would have done a small child, he said,

"You know that we all love you very, very much, even if we mistake you for a tomato sometimes."

"Great," Gordon remarked sarcastically, swatting Scott's hand away and glancing over his shoulder towards the screen. He sighed loudly in resignation. "Well, it looks like you've won again, Fermat. That makes it five-three, right?"

Fermat shook his head, running a hand through his spiky brown hair. "Six-three."

"What?" Gordon protested, turning to face the younger teenager. "It is _totally_ not six-three! I'd never let you beat me like that. Nope, definitely five-three."

"Six-three." Fermat repeated, standing up and brushing off his pants, before moving towards the window balcony doors and sliding one of them back so that the cool evening air wafted into the room. Gordon plopped down onto the couch beside Tin-Tin and put his head in his hands.

"I'm a failure."

Alan grinned, patting Gordon on the back in mock-comfort. "Cheer up, Gordo. It was inevitable that Fermat would own you. He's already beaten the rest of us hands-down. I mean c'mon, he beat Scott eleven-two last week."

Scott huffed, mumbling something about a technical glitch in one of the controllers, and Fermat grinned at him.

Suddenly, there were identical buzzing sounds emerging from five different sources within the room. Glancing down at their watches, which were flashing intermittently between different colours, they all immediately fell silent.

"A rescue?" Alan asked breathlessly, his heart rate picking up in anticipation.

Scott nodded, already on his way to the door with Gordon. Jumping to his feet, Alan made to follow his brothers, but stopped halfway and turned back towards his friends.

"I'll s-stay with Tin-Tin," Fermat assured him. "You go. You've earned this one. But just p-p-promise that you'll stay outta trouble, okay?"

Grinning, Alan returned to Fermat's side and the two boys touched fists. "F.A.B." This was it. This was finally it. He was at last going on another rescue mission with his older brothers at last. It was what he had been looking forward to ever since he had first fallen ill at the beginning of the summer break. His chance had finally come to take up his wings again.

And boy was he gonna fly.

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_**Who is it that needs rescuing? Find out next time!**_

_**Reviews, s'il vous plait? Pour moi?**_

_**xox**_


	8. Chapter 8: Thunderbirds Are Go

_**Hey everybody!**_

_**Thanks again for all the awesome reviews, even though I wasn't able to reply to a few of them because of the techno problems. But they weren't overlooked, I proimse! I read all of them, and I really appreciated the kind comments you sent to me. Love ya, guys!**_

_**Enjoy!**_

_**

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**_

John chewed at the end of his touch-pen, a thoughtful frown upon his face as he cocked his head to one side and tried to decipher the complicated terminology of Brains' status report from Thunderbird 5. The scientist had been onboard the space station for almost a week now, and the repairs were nearing completion. Replacing the energy converter in the secondary backup generator had taken a lot longer than Brains had first anticipated, as he had encountered numerous technical difficulties along the way. The excess heat produced by the faulty generator had caused further problems for the secondary system, resulting in Brains needing to perform a number of smaller repairs which, although relatively easy to fix, had taken time to complete. But Brains didn't seem to mind about the extra time he was spending up in space, and Gordon certainly wasn't going to complain about missing his rotation this month. The aquanaut, unlike his older blond brother, wasn't a great fan of the stars. He became easily bored when there wasn't a pool nearby.

Smiling to himself, John scrolled down the page and tried to make sense of what Brains had written. After a few minutes, he shook his head in frustration and stood up, slipping the pad into his pocket. _I guess I'll just have to call Brains and ask him to explain it all to me. I mean c'mon, what the heck is a 'cybrallic energy converter'? I didn't even know there __**were**__ any of those onboard the station! They must be a new model that Brains installed after all the damage done during Spring break. _

Stepping out into the hallway, John sighed deeply and pulled his door closed behind him. He had long ago made a habit out of doing this; he and his brothers had discovered that Gordon was less likely to set up a prank in your bedroom if the door was closed. Unsurprisingly, all members of the Tracy household (except, of course, Gordon himself) made sure that their doors were kept firmly shut. It wasn't paranoia; it was self-preservation.

Suddenly, John felt his wrist watch begin to vibrate. Coming to a halt, he glanced down at the device, noticing that the six coloured lights around the edge of the watch-face were flashing constantly. _A rescue call!_

Breaking into a jog, John swiftly made his way down the corridor, heading in the direction of his father's office. It was quite a distance away from the main living area of the villa, and it took almost a minute before he made it to the side corridor that lead up to what would no be the Command and Control Centre. Running up the stairs, John passed the row of storage units that lined the right-hand wall, darting around the corner and making a final sprint to the end of the hallway, where the door to his father's office was located.

He came skidding to a halt in front of the door, pressing his hand to the recognition panel and watching as a single bar of yellow light scanned over his palm and fingers. A second later, there was an affirmative '_beep'_, and a smaller door in the centre of the titanium barrier slid open, revealing the room inside. The office had already transformed itself into Internation Rescue's control base; the large raised platform in the middle of the room gleamed as the light shone off several diagnostic screens and communications controls. Jeff sat behind the main control desk, facing the line of portraits along the back wall. The room was lit by the overhead lights, which glared at full intensity to compensate for the fact that the metal shutters over the massive window had blocked out all natural sunlight. Thomas stood behind Jeff's command chair, one hand stretched out to support himself on the desk as he leant over Jeff's shoulder and peered at the screen in front of him.

"Understood, Brains," Jeff was saying as John stepped into the room and came to stand beside Thomas. "Is there any way we can pinpoint subterranean instabilities?"

On the screen, Brains sighed and shook his head "The sp-spe-, um, experts are trying to ascertain that right now, uh, Mr. Tracy. They've, uh, assured me that the right wing of the c-c-complex is still perfectly sound. But they, uh, still aren't sure about the stability of the reactor units."

Jeff nodded in understanding, flicking a switch beside him to deactivate the emergency signals as the rest of the family entered the room, the sound of their footfalls rising to a metallic clatter as the Tracy sons stepped up onto the platform and came to stand behind John.

The signals having been deactivated, John immediately felt the difference as his watch ceased to vibrate, but the skin around the device still tingled with that familiar buzzing sensation. Rubbing at his arm in an attempt to stop the tingling, John jumped slightly as a hand slapped down on the centre of his back, and Gordon's head appeared beside his.

"What's wrong with the world this time?" the red-head asked, his serious tone belying the light-hearted implications of his words. Jeff swivelled around in his chair so that he was facing his sons, then frowned, doing a quick head count.

"Where's Virgil?" he asked, one hand resting on the control panel as he raked the fingers of the other through his hair.

"Right here."

The middle Tracy-son ran up to join the rest of his family beside the control desk, breathing heavily. John looked over at him and grinned, spotting a streak of blue on his brother's cheek. Apparently, Virgil had been using his oil pastels when the emergency signal had been sent. Choosing to ignore the smudge, John turned back towards his father as Jeff cleared his throat.

"Alright, boys, here's the situation," he began. "Approximately seventeen minutes ago, there was an earthquake in a Callingiri, west Australia. Earthquakes that violent are uncommon in that area, and it caused a considerable amount of damage to the nearby rural areas. However, the local fire and rescue services believe that they have the situation under control."

"So," Scott interrupted. "They don't need International Rescue?"

Jeff frowned at his eldest son's statement and shook his head. "That's not the full extent of the damage, Scott," he continued. "About two miles outside of central Callingiri sits the largest carbon-syrilium processing unit in the world. Now, although there are structural supports placed throughout the foundations of the complex, the earthquake has caused such significant ground movement, that the supports have begun to collapse. Dozens of workers, most of them lead scientists in the refining industry, have become trapped in the main building, which was badly affected by the earthquake. The left wing has all but been reduced to rubble, and the passages that lead to the exits have become blocked by debris from the initial 'quake. A large amount of equipment was damaged as a result of the building's collapse, and fires have sprung up in several areas of the complex. The fire services, although well equipped, don't have the technology to tackle fires of that magnitude, and their paths have been blocked by the fallen debris on the grounds surrounding the main complex. They sent out an emergency call a few minutes ago."

John's mind was buzzing almost as much as his wrist as he processed the information that his father had just relayed to him. _Fire. Lots of fire. At a carbon-syrilium processing unit. Oh boy, this is bad. That stuff is very temperamental when it hasn't been properly synthesised. And if it's still in the process of being reduced, a large temperature increase in one of the reactors could cause a massive explosion. And if the reactor cases have become damaged during the earthquake..._

John knew that this rescue would be a lot more dangerous than many of the others he had been on in the past. If the fires could not be brought under control by the emergency services, the refining canisters would slowly begin to heat up. And once the syrilium exceeded its activation energy, the substance would begin to react and, well...boom.

They didn't have much time to spare.

"Brains," said Jeff, turning back towards the screen, "I'll brief the boys on the finer details of the rescue once they're airborne. In the meantime, contact the site officials and let them know that help is on the way. And keep us informed of the situation."

On the screen, Brains nodded his head once, his years of experience allowing him to maintain a neutral expression. "F.A.B."

Jeff disconnected the call and turned back towards his sons, who had been standing silently behind his chair awaiting instructions. Sitting up a little straighter, the Tracy patriarch slipped into his role as their commander as easily as a man slips into a pair of comfortable and well-worn shoes.

"Scott, Alan, launch Thunderbird One. Once you're airborne, increase speed to maximum and get yourselves to Callingiri as fast as you can."

Scott and Alan nodded, darting off to their own portraits. Jeff watched them go before turning to his remaining sons.

"Virgil, Gordon, John, you're in Thnderbird Two. Take Pod 3; you'll need both the Firefly and the heavy cutting gear. Since we don't know how stable the ground's going to be underfoot, I want you to load the hover-sleds onto the pod before you launch.

"The Mole will be useless here; the ground's too unstable to risk tampering with the foundations. Be sure to keep in contact with Thunderbird 5 at all times. Brains is trying to ascertain which area of land is stable enough to support Two's weight. We'll keep you informed of any changes. Fly fast, boys."

Nodding sharply, John strode around the front of the control desk and stepped into the single-person elevator behind his portrait. Holding onto the rail on either side of him, he glanced over towards his father, who was now standing up out of his chair. Jeff took a moment to look each of his sons in the eye, then gave a brief nod and smiled.

"Thunderbirds are go!"

Automatically, John looked up at the ceiling, pressing the button on the underside of the right-hand rail. He felt his stomach drop as the elevator descended quickly, but kept his gaze focused on the number '5' that had been painted in the very centre of the ceiling. Brains had painted similar numbers in each of the lifts, so that the boys had something to focus on when they were making their way towards to hangers. Brains had always told them _never _to look forward when the lift was descending, as the glass panel was transparent, and watching you hurtled downwards through metres of rock and steel would not only make you feel as dizzy as hell, but would probably turn your stomach. On the very first mission two years ago, John had made the mistake of ignoring the scientist's advice, and had arrived in the hanger unable to walk in a straight line, as green as a garden legume and thoroughly miserable. Scott had found the whole situation hilarious, until the younger Tracy had barfed up all over the pilot's boots.

Feeling the lift slowing to a halt, John allowed his gaze to drift away from the ceiling and gazed out through the transparent screen in front of him. The sight of Thunderbird Two's gleaming green body stole his breath for a moment, as it ever did. The sheer size of her still surprised him, for in memory she never seemed so..._impressive._ And although she wasn't John's 'bird, he had to admit that she was a damn fine aircraft. There wouldn't _be _a rescue organisation without Thunderbird Two.

There was a slight shudder as the lift locked into place, before the transparent door slid open and John stepped out onto the metal plates of the catwalk that lead to Thunderbird Two's side access hatch. Breaking into a jog, he heard the loud thudding behind him telling him that his brothers had also arrived. Punching in the access code, he waited for the green doors to slide open, before turning towards his younger teammates.

John glanced towards the younger of the two. "Gordon, load the extra gear into Pod 3. I'll double check to make sure that we have sufficient fire-proof equipment stored in the bay."

Gordon nodded, turning around again and sprinting out of hatch, his feet thundering along the catwalk as he ran back towards his elevator, preparing to descend the extra level so that he could load the equipment. John stepped into International Rescue's primary rescue vehicle, Virgil just behind him.

"Virgil, head up to the bridge and prepare for launch. It's your 'bird, you have command of her. Warm her up for us."

"F.A.B, John."

As his younger brother sprinted off in the direction of the command deck, John sighed again, turning around and walking in the opposite direction down the corridor, heading for the storage bay entrance. It was a room adjacent to the Pod bay where all the general equipment – stretchers and climbing gear, spare uniforms and protective suits; things that would be needed in most rescue missions – was stored. His stomach fluttered nervously, as it always did before the start of a mission. Although he was sure you never really became accustomed to this sort of life, he _did_ have less experience than the rest of his brothers – except Alan, of course. There had been a time, right at the start of International Rescue two years ago, when Thunderbird Five had not yet been completed and he had participated in each and every rescue alongside the three senior Tracy sons. But once Five had been brought online, he'd known he'd found his real place in the organisation. Still, a change of pace was called for every so often, and he had to admit that doing the actual _rescuing_ was a lot more beneficial than watching it all from a space station.

Nodding in satisfaction at the neat rows of equipment, he exited the storage bay and made his way towards the bridge to join his brother.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Scott zipped up his flight suit, concealing the light t-shirt beneath the heavier fabric. Securing his International Rescue pin in place, he grabbed his gloves out of the closet and jogged into the cockpit of Thunderbird one, pulling a glove onto his right hand hurriedly. Alan grinned over at him from the co-pilot's chair, his blond hair a little more ruffled than usual.

"That took you long enough."

Scott frowned disapprovingly, sliding into his seat and pulling on his other glove. "I've got longer legs than you, Shorty. There's more uniform to put on."

Alan pulled a face. "That," he drawled, "was the most pathetic excuse I've ever heard."

"Whatever," Scott mumbled good-naturedly, reaching above his head and flicking the switches to fire up the energy generators. The panels before him immediately flared into life, a soft high-pitched hum beginning to rise from deep within the body of the aircraft. Out of the corner of his eye, Scott saw Alan reach up and secure the communicator to his left ear, positioning the Mike in the direction of his mouth. Smiling, Scott turned his attention back towards the controls.

_He's better than Gordon. It took months for Gords to realise which way up the communicator went. I always thought it was rather obvious, but apparently I was mistaken. Or perhaps Gordon was just doing it to get on my nerves. That wouldn't surprise me. The things that kid used to do when he first became a member of International Rescue..._

Half-smiling, half-grimacing at the thought, Scott reached up a hand to his own ear and tapped it with two fingers. "Thunderbird One to base."

"Base here, Scott," his father's voice replied. "Reading you loud and clear."

Scott shifted his position slightly, gripping at the controls of his 'bird, itching to take her up into the sunset skies. "All systems are green. Requesting permission to launch."

"Permission granted. Thunderbird One is clear for launch," his father replied, and Scott heard the usual loud klaxon as the pool began to slide back. Natural sunlight exploded into the darkened hanger and, with a wince, Scott flicked another switch, tinting the glass.

Scott glanced across to make sure that Alan was fastened in correctly, then checked the reading one last time, before pushing forward on the throttle. He felt his stomach shift slightly as the aircraft slowly began to ascend towards the early evening sky, breaking free from its clamps and soaring up and away from Tracy Island. He could feel the power emanating from the magnificent ship; it hummed through his fingers as he gripped the controls, running up his arms and legs like a thousand in waves of euphoria. The adrenaline surged through his bloodstream, keeping him alert and awake, oblivious to anything except the task at hand. Checking to see that he had made it a safe distance away from the island, Scott settled back in his seat and pushed forward on the throttle once again, increasing the speed to maximum. He immediately felt the difference, and smiled as the ocean flew by beneath the belly of his aircraft.

"You really shouldn't fly this close to the water, Scott."

Scott's lips twitched. "Thank you, _Virgil_."

Adjusting the flaps, he felt her gaining height until he was soaring at level with the clouds. Alan glanced down at the flight diagnostics, nodding his head. Scott allowed himself to smile this time. His brother was right, flying at forty feet at the speed his was currently flying at would _not _be wise. His father would personally ground him for the rest of his life (and a good portion of the next) if he crashed Thunderbird One over a foolish stunt like that. If they even survived the crash, of course, which would be unlikely.

Shaking his head, Scott moved his thoughts away from such a morbid topic, concentrating instead upon his flying. He glanced over at Alan again, as the teenager established a video-link with Thunderbird 5. Brains' head appeared on the screen, and the scientist broke into a smile, which Alan returned brightly. Scott tried to keep his eyes on the flight data, knowing that small distractions cost lives.

"Hey, Brains. Any more news on the situation?"

"Not yet, Alan. But there's something you and Scott n-n- have to know about the rescue mission. Your father asked me to explain it to you, but I think that it'll be, uh, faster if John summarised the situation instead, since I've already spoken to him on the subject. I need to, uh, c-call the fire chief at the danger zone to, uh, appraise myself of the situation."

Scott nodded, adjusting his angle to compensate for wind speed. "Let us know how things are, Brains. Alan'll patch us through to John."

"F.A.B."

Moments later, a two-way video link had been established between the Thunderbirds vehicles. Scott glanced towards the communications screen briefly.

"I guess you heard that?"

The astronaut nodded. "I'll make it as brief as I can, but you need to understand the dangers involved here. Carbon-syrilium is refined from pure carbon dichromate. During the refining process, it has to be reduced to a viscous liquid substance so that they can remove all the impurities. At this stage, it is highly volatile. It has to be kept in secure anti-static containers, as the slightest spark could ignite the liquid and cause a serious explosion. Now, this poses two major problems to us during the rescue. Firstly, the initial earthquake may have caused damage to one or more of the containers, in which case the smallest flame that it comes into contact with will cause the whole thing to blow. And secondly, the fires that have started as a result of the damaged electrical lines will be producing large amounts of heat. Now, when volatile carbon-syrilium is heated, it forms a vapour. The more vapour it forms, the greater the pressure within the container. And if the pressure gets too much..."

"Boom," Alan concluded softly.

John nodded seriously, his face grim. "Big boom. We want to avoid that at all costs. The activation energy of carbon-syrilium is quite high, so we should be safe for a little while. The quicker we put those fires out, the better. But if the pressure's already too high by the time we get there, there'll be nothing we can do to stop it."

Scott frowned worriedly. He didn't like the idea of sending his younger brothers into a ticking time bomb. Glancing down at the monitors to assure himself that all was well, he sighed deeply and ran a hand through his hair.

"Is there any way of knowing which canister is about to blow?"

"I've had a word with the site officials," the astronaut replied, rubbing at his chin absently. "They have monitors connected to all of the canisters. The readings are sent to an energy station about half a mile away, so they won't be affected by the damage that's been caused to the complex itself. They'll be able to supply us with hand-held pressure scanners, which should give us some indication of which canisters are the most volatile."

"Well, that's a something, at least," Scott muttered. "Anything else we need to know?"

"The vapour is toxic if it builds up in the lungs. Our helmets should protect us so long as we use the oxygen tanks instead of the filter. The local rescue and fire crews have enough spares for the survivors, so all we need to focus on is getting the victims outta there."

Scott nodded. "What's your ETA?"

John glanced down at a panel nearby, pausing for a moment to study it. "Forty-one minutes," he stated. "Yours?"

Alan, who had just been ascertaining this exact reading, replied, "Thirty-two minutes, give or take a few seconds."

"Rodger that," John replied, reaching towards the screen. "Keep us posted. Fly safe, guys. Keep him in line, Al."

"F.A.B. Thunderbird One out."

Once the call had terminated, Scott sent his brother a fond look, risking his control over the aircraft as he leaned over and ruffled Alan's hair. Alan frowned and pushed his brother's hand away, but the corner of his mouth twitched slightly, betraying his amusement.

"Dude, you're flying one of the most advanced pieces of technology known to mankind," he complained. "Is this really a safe time to be doing...doing _that_."

"Doing what?" Scott countered innocently. "I wasn't doin' anything outta the ordinary, was I?"

"Nope," Alan sighed, flicking a switch on the control panel and activating the backup lighting system - the sun was already beginning to set, and the clouds were a pale orange on the horizon "Sadly, you weren't."

Scott laughed again, glancing down at the guidance readings and adjusting their course accordingly. "Glad to hear it, Al. Glad to hear it."

And so, even as the Tracy boys smiled companionably, the horizon continued to darken and Thunderbird One streaked through the dimming sky towards it. Little did the two pilots know that the night ahead would be full of unforeseen shadows; it was a darkness from which they, and their team members, would struggle to return.

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_**Thanks for reading! That's all for now. The next instalment will be out on **__**Saturday**__**, so tune in for chapter nine!**_

_**As always, any feedback would be greatly appreciated.**_

_**Have a great week!**_


	9. Chapter 9: The Beginnings Of Trouble

**_Hello again!_**

**_Yes, it's a miracle. I'm actually on time! My laptop has decided to stop vexing me, and nothing particularly disastrous has happened this week to get in the way of my typing. 'sigh' It's nice to have a bit of normality for once, don't you think? :^D_**

**_Thanks for all the awesome reviews you sent me! They were really kind and encouraging. And sorry for the unintentional (well, semi-unintentional) cliffie that I left at the end of the last chapter. I've being trying to avoid doing those (as there are several on the way), but I guess I couldn't resist the temptation, huh? Lol. _**

**_Oh, but just one thing to note, none of the scientific terminology in the last chapter (or in this upcoming chapter, actually) was born out of research. You may have not realised this, but "carbon-syrilium" and "carbon dichromoboxilate" don't actually exist. I made them up. It's fake. As was all the terminology I used when describing the increase in pressure. That's just basic chemistry being applied to made-up words (I had fun creating the names for the compounds). Most of the scientific jargon is a mixture of my own imagination, and knowledge that I have acquired from the chemistry classes I take at college. But I'm glad that most of you bought it as fact, as the intention was to make it as realistic as possible. Lol, but it still made me laugh that a few of you congratulated me on my research. Thanks anyway! I really appreciated the sentiment!_**

**_And lastly, this chapter is dedicated to Lissysue85, who's had a bit of a tough week. Big 'hugs' to you, honey!_**

**_Okay, now that all the talking is done, let's get on with the chapter!....._**

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Virgil saw the complex long before they arrived at the rescue site. In the distance, he could see the white dots of light that were Callingiri, but the colour of those lights were different. They were whites and reds, and far more contained. But the light that came from the damaged carbon-syrilium refinery was out of control, flaring at full intensity and sending pillars of brown smoke up into the night sky.

Virgil swore under his breath as they neared their destination. They hadn't had to deal with a fire of this magnitude since the oil rig fire in Russia. That particular rescue had taken place only days before the Hood's attack, which was probably why Virgil could remember it so clearly. He had been positioned on the rescue platform, and he could still recall feeling the intense heat of the flames as they burned their way through the gallons of oil stored up in the rig. But the conditions during that rescue mission had been tough; with wind speeds of over one hundred miles per hour, the rain lashing down on them from all directions. Virgil had found it difficult to rescue the workers, who had become trapped on the burning metal structure. But, thanks to the help of his family, the mission had been completed without any fatalities.

Virgil glanced down at the external scanners, his eyes running over the diagnostic readings and temperature gages.

_At least conditions are good at the moment. No detectable wind force, and Brains said that there are no signs of rain clouds over this area during the next twenty-four hours. So Mother Nature is on our side for once? That's unusual. But we're going to need all the help that we can get. We're pressed for time on this rescue mission; those fuel containers won't be able to stand the heat for an extended period of time, or so Brains says. We'll have to work fast in order to rescue the missing personnel. _

Letting out a steady breath, Virgil hit the comm-button and sent out a signal to his brothers.

"This is Thunderbird 2 calling Thunderbird 1." he stated. There was a soft '_click'_, as the line was diverted, and then Alan's clear voice emanated from his ear-piece.

"This is Mobile Control to Thunderbird 2." the teenager responded calmly. "Reading you loud and clear. What is your ETA?"

John, who had been silently watching the readings on the control panel, reached up to tap the button on his own ear-piece, and answered;

"ETA is approximately two minutes." he reported. Virgil nodded his thanks and adjusted the throttle, slowing his 'bird down in preparation for landing. He heard Alan speaking to someone quietly, but he could not make out what his brother was saying. He was clearly covering the microphone as he conferred with a person nearby. After a few moments, there was a muffled '_Thank you'_, and Alan's voice could be heard once more.

"The site official has just told me that the only safe area to land is right beside Thunderbird 1." he informed them. Virgil frowned, flicking a switch on the control panel so that the landing lights - which were positioned on the belly of his aircraft - switched on.

"How much room will that give me?" he asked, shooting a worried glance towards John. Virgil was an excellent pilot, but there was only so much that one could do with a machine the size of a small factory.

He heard Alan sigh gently, and the microphone crackled slightly as a result. "It's gonna be a tight squeeze between Thunderbird 1 and the security gates of the complex," the younger Tracy said calmly. "But you can do it, Virge. I know you can."

Virgil smiled at his brother's statement. Alan's confidence in his flying skills was truly touching. However, it didn't really put Virgil's mind at ease.

"Thanks, Sprout." he said warmly, settling back in his chair and readying himself for the difficult landing. "I'll call again once we've landed, alright?"

"F.A.B." Alan responded, before lowering his voice and adding, "And don't call me 'Sprout'."

John laughed as the line cut, and even Virgil let out a chuckle. Although Alan had resigned himself to the fact that his brothers would always use the name 'Sprout' at home, he refused to allow the term to be used when they were out on rescue missions. Apparently, it _'undermined his position on the team'_. The teenager was adamant that he be treated as an equal when he was in his uniform, and their father had actually agreed on that point. He had said that an unbalanced team wouldn't function properly, because each member must always have one-hundred percent confidence in the rest of the team, otherwise lives would be lost. And Alan had been right. On previous rescue missions with their youngest brother, the older boys had discovered that he acted with a maturity well beyond his years when he was treated as an adult, instead of being sheltered by his older brothers like a small child. But that still didn't keep his older siblings from worrying about him.

Virgil swallowed down the butterflies that had suddenly flown into his stomach. _Relax. Nothing's gonna happen to the kid, as long as I keep an eye on him. Alan's sensible enough to know what to do. And besides, he won't be on his own at any point, unless he's manning Mobile Control. He'll always have one of us with him, that's the rule. But still, is it too soon after his illness to be exposing him to danger like this? What if he becomes injured? Maybe his reflexes have been compromised by the antibiotics. Dammit, why didn't I think of that before? Damn, damn, damn, damn-_

"Virgil, we're in position." John remarked, interrupting Virgil's internal monologue. Snapping out of his own thoughts, Virgil cursed himself for becoming distracted and focused in the task at hand. Allowing his fingers to steadily move across the control panel, he cut the engines one-by-one, feeling the power of his 'bird decrease with every switch that he flicked.

"Alright, I'm taking her down." he said with outward calm, whilst his mind was screaming for him to stop and double-check the approach angle. '_There's no time to do this thing by the book, people's lives are at stake here!'_ he argued with himself.

"Keep her steady." Virgil instructed, keeping his eyes on the diagnostic readings. "Cut the backup thrusters on my mark."

Virgil barely breathed as he maneuvered his large craft into the impossibly small (or so he thought) gap between Thunderbird 1 and the giant metal security gazes of the complex. As slowly and carefully as he could, he lowered her towards the ground. When he was seventy feet from the ground he nodded to John, who had been waiting for his signal.

"Cutting thrusters," John said camly. "And extending legs."

"They're not legs!" Virgil interjected in frustration, still keeping his hands steady as he controlled the aircraft.

"What are they, then?" John countered, smiling as his plan to relieve the tension worked perfectly. "They're just big, green landing things. What would _you_ call them? "

Virgil cracked a small smile. "When I think of a suitable name, I'll let you know." he replied, glad to have fallen back into their usual banter once again. They had this 'argument' every time that John co-piloted his 'bird, and the familiar dialogue helped to soothe his nerves. Suddenly, there was a dull, echoing _'thud'_ as they touched down onto the hard ground. Virgil let out a relieved sigh, releasing the controls and flexing his gloved fingers.

John unclasped his harness and stood to his feet, locking down the flight systems. "Nice landing, Virge." he congratulated. "Now c'mon, let's get down there."

Virgil unfastened his own safety harness, reaching up a hand to tap his ear-piece as he did so. "Thunderbird 2 to Firefly." he called. "You all set, Gords?"

"All systems are green." the water-loving Tracy responded. "I'm good to go."

"F.A.B." Virgil replied, leaning forwards and typing in the sequence of buttons that would lower the pod to the ground. He then turned a switch and confirmed the access code, releasing the door to the pod as it set itself down upon the ground. "Pod door opening." he reported. "Take her over to Mobile Control, Gordo. We'll see you there."

"Acknowledged." Gordon responded. "Over and out."

Virgil straightened up, locking down his own set of controls, before turning towards the door of the flight deck. John stood there waiting for him, a helmet in each hand. The older Tracy smiled at him and handed him one of the helmets, reaching up to secure his own in place over his head.

"You ready to go, Picasso?" he asked lightly. Virgil nodded, pulling the helmet onto his head. He blinked as the tinted visor dimmed the colours around him, and raised a hand to the side of his head to make sure that the speaker was working.

"You reading me, John?" he asked. John gave him a thumbs-up and turned around, heading for the elevator at the end of the corridor that would take them down into the pod. As they stepped inside, John typed in the access code that would release the locks on the left clamps, and the doors slid shut; even as John's voice drifted through Virgil's ear-piece.

"Let's go, little bro."

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Scott and Alan stood beside Mobile Control, both wearing identical frowns upon their faces. These frowns were so prominent that the brothers could clearly see each other's worried expressions through the tinted visors of their rescue helmets. They listened silently as the site official, a middle-aged man named Jeremy Anscombe, gave them a brief description on the extent of the damage that had been caused both during and after the earthquake.

"The left wing has been completely reduced to rubble." he stated, running a hand through his light brown hair as worry lines creased his forehead. "And a large proportion of the main complex is also beginning to collapse. It is estimated that there are still over fifty scientists unaccounted for, and scans indicate that the majority of the survivors are located within both the right and the central areas of the complex. Our rescue crews have been successful in recovering a hundred or so workers, but it appears that the science labs were located within the main complex, which is why the missing personnel all seem to be specialists of some kind. Anyway, the bad news is that my rescue teams are unable to enter the main building, the fire is just too strong - and we don't possess machines that are capable of moving all the debris out of the way, so our fire-trucks are unable to get through."

Scott pressed a button on mobile control so that the main screen revealed a blue-print of the area. Raising a gloved hand, he pointed the a large rectangular building on the far side of the image. "This is the area that has collapsed, correct?" he inquired, his voice sounding slightly tinny as it drifted through the speakers in his helmet.

Jeremy nodded. "That's right. There's no point in you and the rest of your team wasting time on that section of the site, there aren't any survivors. At least none that our scans could detect."

Scott nodded, grimacing at the realisation that many innocent lives had already been lost as a result of the earthquake. _We can't save everyone. Gotta remember that. Our job is to help as many people as we can, but we're only human. I doubt that we'll be able to get to everyone in time. Fifty scientists? So many missing personnel, and we only have a short amount of time; this place is like a ticking bomb. We're gonna have to work quickly._

Turning back towards the site official, Scott reached out a hand and clapped the older man on the shoulder reassuringly. "We'll do everything we can to rescue them, sir." he promised. "But we'll need your help. We're going to require the cooperation of your rescue teams."

Jeremy nodded. "We have twelve men standing by to help out. We've already sent the more experienced team in; they were the men who managed to rescue the first group of workers. But we lost contact with them a few moments ago. We think that the heat may have damaged our equipment, and we are now unable to receive any signals from within the complex."

Scott frowned. The last thing they wanted to do was put more people at risk. _Is it safe to send any more rescue teams into the danger zone of they haven't got the right equipment? The more people we endanger, the more we'll have to save. But I know what it's like to be stuck in the sidelines as your colleagues fight for survival. It happened during my days with the Air Force, when Andy's rescue squadron was shot down by enemy fire in the desert. Man, I would've given anything to be part of that search-and-rescue operation, but I didn't have the expertise needed to track them down. But I know that these guys do. They've trained for stuff like this; trained more intensively than I have. They can help us. We **need** them to help us._

"Tell your men to stay alert." Scott said, directing his comment both to Jeremy, and to the head of the fire department who stood a few paces behind the site official. "We'll be sending in one of our machines to clear away the debris and put out the fire in the main complex, but we're going to need your help in tackling the smaller fires. Once the path is clear enough, take as many fire trucks as you can into the area and try to extinguish as much as you can. We need to lower the temperature in there, or else the situation will become far more critical."

Both Jeremy and the fireman nodded their heads in understanding, turning around and running off in opposite directions so that they could inform their respective teams. Scott turned to look at his younger brother, who was now sitting at Mobile Control and accessing the thermal scanner. Stepping up behind the smaller Tracy, Scott put a hand on his shoulder.

"What's the situation, Alan?" he asked. The helmeted head turned to look up at him, and the tense shoulders relaxed slightly.

"The temperature's still rising." Alan reported worriedly. "I don't know how it's affecting the pressure within the storage canisters, though. One of the scientists who was rescued is trying to set up some sort of scanning device at the moment, but I don't know how much luck he's having."

"Scott!"

The field commander turned around, spotting his second-youngest sibling as he jumped out of the hatch of the Firefly and sped across the ground towards them. Scott blinked in surprise. He hadn't even _noticed_ the arrival of the fire-fighting machine. It's driver jogged up to where Mobile Control had been set up, and leaned against the side of one of the panels, breathing heavily.

"Hey guys." Gordon panted, straightening up and giving his brothers a half-wave. "What's the situation?"

Scott grasped his brother's arms gently and looked into Gordon's face, which was dimmed slightly by the tinted visor. "There's not much time to explain." he stated. "The temperature of the refinery is increasing steadily, and if we don't bring it down in time, this whole place could blow. I need you to take the Firefly into the main complex and extinguish the fire near the primary reactor, alright? Clear a path for the other fire trucks, that way both our teams can work together on this one. Once the Firefly's supply of suppressant liquid has run dry, and you've cleared all the debris that you can, get the hell outta there and come back to Mobile Control. Keep in contact, and inform us the second there's a problem. Alright?"

Gordon nodded, snapping to attention. "F.A.B."

As he turned to run off, Scott grabbed his arm and pulled him back momentarily. "And Gordon?"

The aquanaut paused, looking back over his shoulder expectantly. "Yes?"

Scott sighed and squeezed the arm that he was holding. "Just be careful, okay? There isn't room for mistakes this time, Gords. You going to be in real danger in there. Keep your wits about about you, alright?"

Gordon nodded again. "Will do, Scott. The same applies to you. I'm not gonna be there to watch you butt, so be careful."

And with that, he turned and sprinted back over to Firefly, stepping back inside the vehicle and ceiling the hatch. Out of the corner of his eye, Scott saw Alan lean down towards the console and press the button that would activate the wide-range communicator.

"This is International Rescue calling all fire units." he stated clearly and slowly. "We are currently sending in one of our rescue machines. If it is successful in its mission, it will have been able to clear a path for your vehicles. You'll need to use all speed in getting into the complex and tackling those fires. Time is of the essence. Repeat, this is International Rescue to _all_ fire units..."

As Alan repeated the instructions, Scott admired the way that his teenage brother had miraculously transformed into a mature adult rescuer. Only ten minutes earlier, they had been joking about how textbook Scott's landing had been, and now - it was like Scott was listening to an entirely different person. Alan's ability to act in such a responsible and calm manner made Scott's heart swell with pride. His baby brother was certainly growing up fast.

Minutes past, and Scott found himself pacing as he waited for news on Gordon's progress. Virgil and John were still in the pod of Thunderbird 2, collecting rescue equipment that they would need once the path to the complex had been cleared. Scott had agreed with his father that lowering the rescue platform above the refinery would be suicide; especially whilst the fires were still burning, as the pillars of yellow and orange continued to flare up at random moments, particularly whenever they came into contact with a flammable material. And, since the main fire was burning right at the heart of the scientific research centre (or so Scott could tell from the blueprints they had managed to pull up), the chances of the fire igniting a flammable substance were quite high. The rescue platform wouldn't stand a chance if it were caught by the raging inferno. Scott couldn't risk any of his brothers being incinerated by the flames, so they would have to perform ground-rescues only.

John and Virgil suddenly appeared beside him, five hover-sleds and the heavy-duty cutting equipment in tow. Turning to look at them, Scott briefed them on their current situation as quickly as he could, and Alan came to stand at his elbow so that he could join in with their conversation.

"We're waiting for Gordon to give the all-clear." Scott concluded. "Then we can go in and begin the rescue operation."

"How long's he been in there?" John asked, eyeing what he could see of the burning complex within the gates. Even from that viewpoint, the fire seemed to be less intense than it had been a few minutes ago.

"Four minutes and thirty-eight seconds." Alan reported. As his three older brothers shot him incredulous glances through their visors, he shrugged in self-defence. "What? It's not like I was counting or anything. Mobile control records these things, remember?"

Scott smiled, stopping himself just in time as he turned around with the intention of ruffling Alan's hair. He berated himself for allowing his professionalism to slip. _The kids even wearing a helmet! What was I thinking? I would've looked a right dope if I had tried to ruffle his helmet. C'mon, Scott, focus. You've got a job to do._

Suddenly, the speaker on the inside of Scott's helmet clicked, and Gordon's calm voice filtered through.

"Firefly to Mobile Control," he called. "I've successfully cleared a path to the main complex. The majority of the fire has been extinguished, but I'm out of juice. I'm gonna need the fire crews to come and lend a hand in putting the rest of it out. But I'm gonna stay here for a while and see if I can clear a path to the main entrance. It might make rescuing the scientists a heck of a lot easier."

Scott nodded and gave Alan a thumbs-up, and the younger Tracy immediately hit the communicator on the control panel beside him. "This is International Rescue to _all_ fire crews. Our vehicle has been able to clear a path into the danger zone. We request that all available fire trucks proceed into the area in order to extinguish any existing fires. We will keep in contact if plans change. I repeat, this is International Rescue to _all _fire crews..."

As their younger brother relayed the information once more, Scott beckoned to Virgil and John. The two men joined their eldest sibling a few metres away from Mobile Control, and Scott used his wrist-watch to deactivate the speaker on the inside of his helmet, before raising his visor. Upon seeing his actions, the two younger Tracys copied him, moving closer so that there was no chance of their faces being seen by any of the nearby rescue teams.

Scott bent his head slightly and looked steadily at both Virgil and John. Taking a deep breath, he glanced back over his shoulder momentarily to make sure that they were out of earshot. Satisfied that nobody would be able to overhear them, he turned his head back around towards the small huddle they had formed.

"Alright, guys, you know the situation." he began. "We need to devise a plan of action. My vote is that we take the hover-sleds into the main complex, and use the corridors to access the right wing and the science laboratories. The left wing has all but collapsed, and until we hear otherwise, we're gonna have to assume that there are no survivors in that part of the building."

Both John and Virgil nodded their heads, their expressions grave and serious. Then Scott let out another sigh, locking his eyes with John - his sole adviser.

"What about Alan?"

John raised an eyebrow, until it disappeared beneath the rim of his helmet. "What about him?" the astronaut inquired evenly.

Scott puffed out another breath, turning away slightly, then turning back again as quickly as he had done before. "We need somebody to man Mobile Control, right?" he stated. John nodded his head slowly.

"Yes, at least until Gordon has returned with the Firefly." he replied. "That's just standard procedure. Why?"

Sighing for the third time, Scott stood up a little straighter. "I'm leaving Alan in charge of Mobile Control. Us three can take the hover-sleds into the danger zone. We'll need emergency oxygen tanks, the filters on our helmets might not be able to screen out the toxins produced by the burning fuel. The new micro-suppressed oxygen tanks that Brains invented last month should allow us to take enough for at least four hours. And bring spare masks, that way we can supply the casualties with oxygen from our own tanks if the medical supply runs out. Okay, any questions?"

Virgil's gaze dropped to the floor, and Scott immediately noticed his younger brother's '_I'm-as-stressed-as-hell'_ signs. Reaching out a hand, he squeezed the younger man's shoulder. "Virge?" he prompted gently.

Virgil raised his gaze to look at his brother, and let out a soft sigh. "What happens once Gordon gets back to Mobile Control?" he asked softly.

Scott was puzzled at his brother's behaviour, but answered the question all the same. "Once the Firefly has been locked down, Gordon and Alan will head into the danger zone." he explained.

Virgil's face suddenly clouded over, and his gaze dropped back to the ground. "Right. Of course."

Scott was about to say something else, but he felt a hand on his shoulder pulling him away slightly. Alan smiled at his eldest brother and handed him a hand-held scanning device. Scott looked down at it and frowned slightly.

"What's this for?" he asked, trying to work out how to read the gage on the screen. And chuckled softly, reaching out to turn the device around so that Scott was no longer holding it upside-down. Scott's face brightened as he was then able to make out the measurements on the scanner.

"It's a close-range scanning device." Alan explained. "It can read human life signs from up to twenty metres away. Brains hasn't quite perfected it yet, but he just called to say that the interference coming from the scanning dampeners around the complex are messing with the readings on-board Thunderbird 5."

"Who's messing with my 'bird?" John demanded, having only caught the final few words of Alan's explanation. The younger blond ignored him, instead leaning forward to tap the screen gently with his gloved finger.

"With the site-scanners on the station out of whack, this is the only option we've got right now." he stated. "There's one for each of us, so we can split up if we need to."

Scott nodded absent-mindedly, before striding back over towards Mobile Control. His younger brothers followed him, recognising his '_Let's-get-this-show-on-the-road' _style of walking. His determination seemed to emanate from his body language with an intensity greater than that of the heat that was radiating from the burning ruins of the refinery. Snapping his visor shut over his face, the eldest Tracy-son swung a leg over the side of one of the hover-sleds, reaching back to retrieve a compressed oxygen tank. Strapping the silver canister to his back, he plugged the oxygen feed directly into his helmet, noticing the difference immediately as the cooler air filtered into his lungs with every breath.

Looking up to where his brothers stood waiting for instructions, he allowed his gaze to drift over to his youngest sibling.

"Alan, I need you to man Mobile Control until Gordon returns." he stated. "Keep us updated on the fire crews' progress, and call base so that the Commander knows what's happening. Make sure that Brains is also informed of the situation, and see if he can pull up any more details on how volatile this carbon-syrilium stuff is. When Gordon returns, lock down all the systems and proceed to our position in the complex. We'll regroup and assess our situation then, alright?"

Alan's hands clenched into fists, but he answered with his usual calmness. "F.A.B."

Scott nodded his head, before turning to look at John and Virgil. "You two; gear up and let's go."

Seconds later, both men had strapped the oxygen tanks to their backs, their visors covering their faces once more. With a final nod to Alan, Scott powered up the engine of his hoversled, speeding off through the open gates of the refinery and towards the smoking building. He heard his brothers following behind him, and picked up the pace. They didn't have much time to spare. They had dilly-dallied long enough whilst they had been waiting for Gordon to clear a path to the complex. But now they had finally begun the rescue. The Thunderbirds were on their way once more.

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Alan watched as his brothers sped off into the distance, the light of their suits shining out into the darkness of the night as they zoomed towards the burning building in the distance. Alan sighed in frustration, moving to perch on the edge of the stool that he had been sitting on before. He knew perfectly well why his siblings had been so willing to leave him in charge of Mobile Control; they were still worried. Worried that he might get hurt. Worried that he didn't have the right training to handle the rescue mission under pressure.

_I bet this was Scott's idea. John's always the one who mans Mobile Control on minor missions, he better at all this communications crap. I barely understand what half of these readings mean! Well, at least we're in a country that speaks English, so I won't have to make any announcements in a foreign language this time. Good thing, too, I suck at languages. Well, I can speak French, but that's about it. John can speak nine languages, the freak._

For almost ten minutes, Alan sat at mobile control, keeping an eye on the communications channel just in case his father tried to call him. He would have to contact base soon, anyway, as it was protocal for Mobile Control to check in at least every half an hour. But still, he was going to have to sit there and do nothing until Gordon returned. Which, Alan mused, could take another hour or so. Having extinguished the fire in the main science building, Gordon had driven the Firefly over to the other side of the complex so that he could help clear a path into the right wing of the building. That way, the local rescue crews could try and get to the remaining survivors as fast as possible.

"Sir!"

Alan spun around on the spot as a brown-haired man came sprinting over to him. Alan recognised him as the scientist who had been rescued by the fire crews earlier that evening. The young man was clutching a strange-looking laptop, which had wires poking out in all directions, and a strange metallic disk was balanced on the top of the screen. The scientist came to a halt beside Mobile Control, breathing heavily, and carefully set the laptop down on the edge of the control panel. Alan felt his heartbeat increasing as he noticed the panicked expression in the man's face.

"What's wrong?" he asked worriedly, glancing down at the screen and trying to figure out what the heck it was.

"Sir, I've managed to rig up a basic scanning device." he stated, running a hand nervously through his hair. "It's been programmed to detect a build-up of pressure in the canisters within the refinery. There are thirty-eight canisters, each varying in size. The biggest one is near the main reactor, deep within the heart of the complex, but that one has reinforced titanim-alloy plating. There's no need to worry about that one, it'll take a heck of a lot to cause that one to react. However, the smaller canisters that are littered about the site contain a far more volatile carbon-dichromoboxilic substance, which will take less time to react and will be harder to detect. To tell you the truth, it's unlikely that we'll be able to detect a build-up of pressure before one of them actually blows."

"Those red spikes," Alan murmured, studying the screen intently. "They're meant to signify an increase in the average pressure of each canister, right?"

"Right." the scientist confirmed. Alan's eyes were suddenly drawn to a particularly high red peak on one of the canisters that was located near to the main gate. The bar had shot up only seconds earlier, and was now wavering up and down at the highest reading on the graph.

"Um," Alan stuttered, his forehead creasing in worry. "Is - is it supposed to be doing that?"

"Hmm- What?" the man asked, leaning in closer to take a look. Then his face paled and he froze, before standing up straight and grabbing onto Alan's arms. "The pressure's spiked!" he exclaimed. "The content of that canister has exceeded the container's maximum capacity! It's gonna blow!"

Acting on instinct as the adrenaline kicked in, Alan spun around on the spot and hit the communicator on the panel beside him.

"This is International Rescue to all personnel," he yelled into the microphone. "The refinery canister in section B-7 is _very_ unstable! Please evacuate areas B-7 to B-9 and retreat back from the main gates immediately! Repeat, the canister in section B-7 is unstable, do _not_ attempt to approach the area! Evacuate _immediately_! This is a code-red situation, all personnel must-"

Suddenly, there was an almighty explosion, and a pillar of smoke and fire shot up into the sky from the area nearest to the main gate. Alan instinctively dived onto the ground, pulling the shocked scientist with him. The heat from the explosion blew over them in a giant, humid wave of smoke, bringing with it a cloud of dust and fine debris. Alan lay there for a moment, breathing heavily as his heart thumped within his chest. Clenching his teeth, he took a few calming breaths and closed his eyes tightly. _Get up, Alan. Don't just lie there, get up!_

Pushing himself up onto his hands and knees, Alan surveyed the area. Mobile Control was now covered his a fine layer of light-brown dirt, as was his uniform, but the panels appeared to be unharmed. He couldn't say the same for the security fence, though. There was a large area of bent, twisted and charred metal in the area that had been beside the pressurised canister. Alan was glad that Mobile Control had been set up at this distance away from the border, or else he would probably have looked rather a lot like the remains of the security fence.

Alan heard a loud cough, and suddenly remembered the scientist that he had jumped on top of during the explosion. Crawling forwards, he put a hand on the man's shoulder and looked into his face worriedly. "Are you alright, sir?" he asked.

The scientist nodded, breaking into another coughing fit as his covered his mouth with the back of his hand. Alan realised that the air around them was now thick was dust and chemical vapour, which would explain why the scientist was coughing so harshly. Leaping to his feet, Alan sprinted over to where the two remaining hover-sleds were parked, grabbing the med-bag out of one of the sleds before running back over to Mobile control. Unzipping the bag hurriedly, he dropped to his knees, pulling out an oxygen mask and a small silver canister of suppressed oxygen.

"Here, sir, this'll help." he said calmly, placing the mask over the man's face and plugging the feed into the valve on the canister. Holding the mask in place, his eyes scanned over the rest of the scientist's body, searching for injuries. "Are you hurt anywhere, sir?"

Shaking his head, the older man gulped in the clean oxygen, sending Alan a grateful smile. Then, pushing himself up into a sitting position, he reached up to retrieve his laptop from where it sill sat on the side of the control panel. As Alan secured the mask to his face, the scientist tapped the screen with one dust-covered finger, showing him the empty bar which had previously been showing the pressure reading for the canister in section B-7.

"Will there be any more pressure spikes in the near-future?" Alan asked, beginning to stand to his feet once more. When he was answered with a gentle shake of the head, he let out a relieved, sigh. "Thank God. Alright, I'm gonna go call the rest of my team to inform them about what's happened. You just sit tight for a second, okay?"

Stepping back over to the main console, Alan flicked a switch on the communicator that would open a link between the microphone in his helmet and the speakers within his brothers' helmets.

"This is Mobile Control to all Thunderbird personnel." he called. "Are you receiving me?"

He waited for a moment. Then he waited for another. In the silence that answered him, Alan could here his own ragged breathing as he flicked the switch several times in an attempt to open a channel with his siblings.

"Alan to Scott, please respond." he called. When there was no reply, he switched to the next private channel. "Alan to Virgil, please respond." he called, but was again met by a stony silence. Trying to keep his voice calm, Alan activated the next frequency. "Alan to Gordon, come in please."

Praying for a positive result, Alan activated the final private channel and cleared his throat, which had begun to dry up. "Alan to John, do you read me?" he called. He listened. And waited. But no voice replied.

There was just a sinister, empty silence.

* * *

**_Oh no! Why aren't Alan's brothers responding? Were the boys caught in the blast, or have other forces come to clash against them? In the next chapter, how will Alan respond to the realisation that he has been cut off from the rest of his team? What will he do? And how is Gordon? Did he and the Firefly manage to escape the blast, or was he perhaps trying to exit through the gates at the wrong moment in time? Find out soon!_**

**_Okay, guys, that's all for now. Since it was a Saturday, I made this chapter particularly long. I hope you enjoyed it. The next update will be on Wednesday, so tune in for the next installment. PLEASE REVIEW and tell me what you thought of the chapter, or you can just yell at me for leaving you on such a big cliffie. But seriously, in comparison with what I have planned for future chapters, this ending was nothing at all. Hee hee, the power! Lol._**

**_Thanks for reading, and have a great week!_**

**_xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox_**


	10. Chapter 10: Silence Isn't Always Golden

**_Evenin' all!_**

**_Yup, it's that time of the week already. Shocking, I know. I mean where have all the hours gone? I realised recently that I often spend more time studying than I do sleeping at the weekends. That's - sad. But hey! I guess that's just college life, huh?_**

**_Anywho, back to the present. Thanks for all the awesome reviews, I gather that I'm not popular with most people after that evil cliffie I left you with on Saturday? Well sorry, chums, but there are a lot more on the way. Believe me, that was mild in comparison with some of the ones that I have planned for you later on..._**

**_And now, on with the show!_**

**_(Oh, and as a note; the scene at the beginning of this chapter takes place a few minutes before the end of the last one, okay? We clear on that? Good.)_**

* * *

"Virgil, John, over here!"

John turned at the sound of his older brother's voice, spotting the taller man standing a few metres away beside the doors to the main science building. The metal of the door was charred and blackened, but still intact. The access panel, however, had all but melted as it lay in a shriveled mess beside the wall.

Jogging over to Scott, John glanced down at the ruined device and frowned. "If that's the only access panel, how the heck are we supposed to get in here without blasting the door down?" he asked.

Scott held up a single finger as if to say '_just wait and see'_, before stepping up to the metal doors and pulling down on a large lever on the right-hand side of the alcove. There was a soft '_hiss'_, and Scott withdrew his hand quickly, flexing his fingers.

"Dammit, that things hot!" he exclaimed, and Virgil quickly hurried over to see if he had been injured. As Scott waved him off, John heard Gordon's voice filter through the speaker in his helmet.

"_Well duh_!" the aquanaut laughed, and Scott froze, looking around as though hoping to see the Firefly. "_That's usually what happens when metal comes into contact with fire, stupid. I'd be kinda worried if it wasn't hot. Anyway, are you alright?"_

Scott brushed his hand against the leg of his uniform and turned back around to focus his attention on the door. "I'm fine, Gords." he grumbled. "My glove has seen better days, but it can be replaced."

"Yeah, well your hand _can't_." John stated, coming up to stand beside Virgil. "Next time you might not be so lucky. You should try to be more careful, Scott."

"Okay, okay! Can we please focus on the mission, guys?!" Scott huffed, annoyed at his own foolish slip-up. John rolled his eyes and shook his head, turning back around to look at the smouldering left-wing of the complex, where he could see the fire fighters working to put out the remaining flames. The dark night sky was a murky brown, the smoke within the air reflecting the orange glow of the flames on the ground. But there was one thing that caught John's attention the most; the stars had been completely blotted out.

John jumped as he heard a loud '_clang_', followed by a stream of curses that echoed in his helmet. Turning around to look at the door, John noticed that Scott was hopping about on one foot, with Virgil hovering worriedly nearby. Glancing at the door, the astronaut put two-and-two together.

"Scott, the doors are all made of polysacharite titanium." he stated, jumping over a fallen metal pole as he hurried back towards where his brothers stood. "Kicking it isn't gonna be of much use."

Scott grunted in response, pushing past John and striding swiftly towards the hover-sleds. Lifting out the gun-shaped laser cutting gear, he stalked back over to the door, powered up the device, and fired. A concentrated beam of highly-charged atoms shot out of the end, striking the door's hinges. There was a high-pitched whirring noise for a few moments, before Scott finally switched off the laser and stood back to admire his handiwork.

"I think that should suffice." he stated, carefully placing the cutting gear on the ground. Then, in once swift movement, he spun around and aimed a powerful kick at the centre of the door. With a resounding '_clang_', the metal barrier fell backwards, crashing down onto the floor of the main corridor behind. Without further ado, Scott grabbed the gear, stored it into the back compartment of his hover-sled, and mounted the vehicle once more.

"Guys," he called, determination lining his voice. "Let's go."

Virgil ran over to his own hover-sled, jumping onto it and powering up the engines. Blowing bits of dirt and debris into the air, he sped off into the complex after his older brother. John paused momentarily, his eyes scanning the rest of the danger zone, trying to locate the Firefly amongst the numerous fire trucks and rescue vehicles. Typing in the correct code on his wrist-watch, he opened up a private channel with his younger brother

"Gordon, where are you?" he asked, throwing one leg over his hover-sled as he got ready to take off after Virgil and Scott.

"_I'm on the other side of the main complex_." Gordon replied, his slightly tinny voice echoing in John's ears as it resounded in his helmet. "_The local rescue teams think that they might be able to get in this way, as long as a path has been cleared for them. So that's what I'm doing."_

"F.A.B." John said calmly, powering up his engine. "Contact us when you're done, alright?"

"_This may take some time, you know_." Gordon stated. "_There's a heck of a lot of debris over here. It looks like the back wall has all but collapsed onto the primary generators. And it sure is hot over here!"_

John nodded silently, pulling at the collar of his own uniform with one hand. "I know what you mean, Gordo. It's like a sauna out here! The metal is still giving off heat from the fire. Not enough to cause us serious problems, but enough to make it uncomfortable. Keep an eye on the external temperature scanners, won't you? If I'm gonna be burnt to a crisp, I'd like to know beforehand."

He heard Gordon chuckle softly. "_F.A.B., bro. Good luck_."

With a soft _'click'_, the line disconnected, and John focused his attention on guiding his hover-sled forward. He floated effortlessly floated above the debris and dirt, passing gracefully through what remained of the doorway and entering the complex. John took a deep breath, glancing at the metals doors as he past them by.

"Sorry," he murmured softly. "You were up against Scott. You were destined to lose."

Shaking his head again and smiling in mild amusement, John hovered slowly down the darkened corridor, turning up the intensity of the lights on his hover-sled so that the passageway was illuminated a little more. The place was a mess. Glass and plaster lay everywhere, blackened by the soot from the smoke that had clearly filtered through the corridors when the complex was still ablaze. The walls had huge, wide cracks running from the floor to the ceiling; a reminder of the damage that had been caused by the shift in the building's foundations. Random objects lay scattered about; charred metallic devices and scorched sheets of paper, the latter of which fluttered across the floor as the air from John's hover-sled blew against them. And it was quiet. Far too quiet.

"John, hurry it up!" Scott yelled in his ear-piece.

_Okay, maybe not so quiet. But still, shouldn't the main reactor be making some kinda noise? A - I don't know - a humming or pulsing sound, or something like that? But there's nothing. Maybe they were damaged in the earthquake._

Picking up speed, John continued down the corridor until he saw the light of his brothers' uniforms at the end of the hallway. They had stopped just before the point where the corridor forked in two, and were currently using their portable scanners in an attempt to locate the missing scientists. Coming to a halt beside them, John jumped off his hover-sled and pulled out his own device, switching it on and moving to stand beside his brothers.

"Any luck?" he inquired, pointing his scanner down the right-hand corridor and listening the the shrill beep of the device. Scott nodded sharply, slipping his own scanner back into his eqipment bag and dropping it down onto the hover-sled.

"There are strong life-signs coming from that direction." he stated, pointing towards the right-hand corridor. "But I'm picking up fainter signals emanating from that direction." he continued, pointing towards the left. "Which way are we gonna go first?"

John worried his bottom lip, before straightening up and turning to Virgil, who still held the scanner in his hand. "How many life-signs are there in each direction?" he asked calmly. Virgil glanced up at him, before looking back down at the device in his hands and sighing.

"It's hard to say." he replied, pressing a few buttons on the scanner, before lowing it back down again and looking up at John. "The electrical fluctuations that are occurring throughout this building seem to be interfering with our equipment. But from what I can tell, there are approximately fourteen life-signs to the left of us, and two - maybe three - to the right. It's hard to tell."

Scott, who had been listening silently, turned to look at John, a slight frown visible through his tinted visor. "What d'you think, John? Majority or severity?"

John thought for a moment, before pausing and pressing the side of his watch so that he would open up a private channel with Gordon. "John to Firefly." he called. He heard a soft '_click'_ as the signal was accepted, and Gordon's cheerful voice could be heard over the comm-line.

"_Firefly here. Go ahead_."

John peered over at Scott's scanner, tapping his leg gently with his fingers as he contemplated the two options. "Gordon," he said at last. "How long until you finish clearing a path to the back entrance of the complex?"

He heard Gordon pause slightly. "_Umm - I dunno. In another couple of minutes, maybe. Why_?"

"Tell the fire crews that there are two - possibly three - survivors in section G-12 of the main complex. That's right beside the back entrance, so they shouldn't have any trouble getting there. Scott, Virgil and I are gonna head along the side corridor - we think we've located some of the missing scientists. At the moment we're reading fourteen individual life-signs, but there could be more. Have the med-trucks waiting outside the main doors of the complex, we'll bring them out as soon as we find them. Understood?"

_"F.A.B."_ Gorodn replied. "_Be careful. That building's still structurally unstable. Avoid using the heavy machinery on things like support beams and doors unless there's no other option. If you move the structure around too much, the whole thing could come down on you. And I am so not scraping what's left of your sorry butts off the floorboards, you hear?_"

John smiled slightly, mounting his hover-sled once more. "Acknowledged, Gordon. Over and out."

Scott and Virgil looked at him, and he pointed off to the right. They both gave him a thumbs-up, and started up the engines over their vehicles. A few seconds later, the three brothers were heading off down the corridor once more, the lights from their hover-bikes chasing the dark shadows away before them. It wasn't long before they found themselves at a dead-end. Well, it hadn't always been a dead-end, but a large section of the ceiling had fallen down into the corridor, thus blocking their path. John frowned, jumping off his hover-sled and leaning in closer to peep through the gaps between the beams and poles that lay piled up in front of them, shining a light attached to his right arm into the darkness beyond the fallen debris.

"Hey guys!" he called, glancing back over his shoulder and beckoning his brothers over with a wave of his hand. "There's a set of double doors behind all this! I think this could be the main science lab. In which case, I think we've managed to locate the fourteen survivors."

Scott joined John beside the pile of metal and rubble, pulling out his hand-held scanner and directing it towards the door. Nodding his head, he clipped it back onto his belt and pressed a button on the side of his helmet, activating the external microphone.

"Hello?" he called loudly, his voice echoing in the empty silence of the corridor. "This is International Rescue! Can anybody hear me?"

There was a moment of silence, before a muffled male voice could be heard yelling, "We're in here! The door's jammed, we can't get out!"

Scott nodded towards John, and the younger man moved back over to the hover-sleds, assisting Virgil in removing the laser cutting gear. _There's a lot of debris in front of that door, and there isn't time to move it all by hand. We're just gonna have to blast it out of the way._

As John and Virgil began to assemble the three smaller lasers together in order to create one larger machine, the blond-haired astronaut glanced over at his older brother, who had crouched down so that he could yell through the gap between the fallen beams.

"Stay calm, sir." he called. "We'll get you out. But there's something I need you all to do for me, alright?"

"Um - yes, of course, we - um - alright!" came the muffled response.

Shooting a quick glance over his shoulder to see how well his brothers were progressing, Scott shifted his position slightly before turning back towards the doors. "I need you all to get as far away from the door as possible, alright? We're going to cut through with a high-energy laser beam. The door's going to get very hot, and we might accidentally penetrate it, so we need you all to stay at a safe distance. Do you understand what I'm asking you to do?"

"Yes!" the man called back. "Just wait a sec before you start, a couple of our guys are injured and moving them is gonna take time."

"That's fine" Scott replied. "Give a shout when everyone is at a safe distance, alright?"

When the man replied with a determined "_Okay_", Scott stood to his feet again, switching off the external speaker and heading back over to his brothers. John and Virgil had managed to successfully construct the large laser cutting-machine, and now stood waiting for instructions.

"How long d'you think it will take to blast through all that lot?" Scott asked, indicating the collapsed ceiling behind him with a jerk of his thumb. He stood with shoulders tensed, obviously itching to get into the science laboratory straight away do that he could rescue the missing scientists.

John opened his mouth and was about to answer the question, when Alan's voice suddenly cut through the empty silence, sounding overly loud in John's helmet.

"_This is International Rescue to all personnel_," the voice yelled, and John sensed his brothers tensing, even as he himself froze to the spot. "_The refinery canister in section B-7 is very unstable! Please evacuate areas B-7 to B-9 and retreat back from the main gates immediately! Repeat, the canister in section B-7 is unstable, do not attempt to approach the area! Evacuate immediately! This is a code-red situation, all personnel must-"_

Suddenly, a massive explosion rocked the science complex, and John staggered forward as the vibrations threw him off-balance. He fell against the wall, reaching out with his hands to catch himself before he fell. Dust and small debris rained down on them from the hole in the ceiling, and there was the low screech of metal-against-metal as some of the fallen support beams shifted slightly. John felt a few small clumps of plaster sprinkle over his back as the shaking subsided, and carefully turned his head to look at the extent of the damage that had been done to the corridor this time. However, apart from a thicker layer of plaster dust, nothing drastic seemed to have happened during the after-vibrations of the explosion.

Complete silence reined as the last echoes of the explosion died away, and the eldest Tracy-son found himself standing in temporary shock, the sound of his own laboured breathing resounding in his ears as his heart thundered furiously within his chest. Then Scott leaped into action. Pushing himself up and away from the hover-sled onto which he had stumbled, he grabbed both John and Virgil by their upper-arms and spun them around, his eyes running over their bodies as he quickly searched for any sign of injury.

"You guys okay?" he asked hurriedly. Both men nodded, although their chests were rising and falling swiftly as they tried to regain their normal breathing patterns. Satisfied that neither brother was hurt, Scott dialed in a code on his wrist-watch.

"Alan, you alright?" he asked. There was only an empty silence for an answer, and Scott tried dialing in the code again, his voice becoming a little more strained as he called his younger brother for the second time. "Alan, this is Scott, do you read me?"

Again, there was no answer. Scott shot a worried glance at John, who immediately tried to raise his own private channel with his youngest sibling. "John to Alan, please respond." he called loudly. When there was again no reply, John felt his breathing begin to quicken in fear.

"You," Virgil murmured, his shoulders tense and worried as he turned to look at his two older brothers. "You don't think that-?"

"No." Scott said firmly. "It's just a technical hitch or something. He's fine. He's just fine."

"B-7." Virgil whispered. "Alan said that the unstable canister was in B-7, right?"

John nodded, and Scott looked in between them with a frown upon his face. "What about it?" he demanded.

John swallowed, his throat suddenly dry, and took a deep breath to try and quell the nauseous feeling that was beginning to churn in his stomach. "B-7 is the section right beside the main gate." he explained hoarsely. "Right beside Mobile Control."

In the shocked silence that followed, you could have heard a pin drop.

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Alan tried his best to stay calm as he hit another comm-button and cleared his throat.

"This is Mobile Control to Firefly. _Please _respond!" he repeated slowly, clenching one hand into a fist where it lay resting on his leg. "Gordon, can you read me? Gordon? C'mon, Gords, answer me! Please!"

It had been nearly three minutes since the initial explosion, and Alan was having a hard time keeping his emotions under control. He had not yet been successful in contacting any of his brothers, and he was becoming more and more desperate. He wasn't sure just how much longer he could maintain his outward calm. With no other options, Alan hit the comm-button again and sent a signal up to Thunderbird 5. He could have cried with joy when Brains' voice filtered through the speakers.

"Thunderbird 5 here. G-g-go ahead, Alan." the scientist stated. Alan took a deep breath, before launching into his hurried explanation.

"Brains, there's been an explosion in the danger zone." he stated. "One of the canisters blew. I've lost contact with the rest of the team, and I don't yet know if they made it clear in time, or if they were caught in the blast. Brains, I need you to do a site-scan and see if you can locate their life-signs."

"I'm on it." came the swift reply. After a few moments, the speaker crackled slightly as Brains moved close to the microphone once more. "Alan, I'm not d-d-reading any life-signs in the, uh, in the the area."

"What?!" Alan cried, his heart leaping up into his throat.

"Calm down, Alan." Brains soothed. "What I meant was that I, uh, I'm not actually d-d-picking up any life-signs at all. Not you, not the, uh, the other rescue crews. And no, not your brothers, either. But I believe that this might be a result of the explosion you spoke of."

"What d'you mean?" Alan asked, having calmed down a little after Brains' explanation. He heard the scientist sigh slightly.

"It's complicated." he stated, and Alan wanted to scream in frustration at the vagueness of the man's comment. However, in true Brains fashion, he explained it anyway. "The carbon isomers within the syrilium fraction are, uh, highly m-m-magnetised in their gaseous state. These magnetic polarities are c-concentrated enough to interfere with the short-wave frequencies of the, uh, transmitters within the helmets. It's a d-d-distinct possibility that you are unable to contact your b-b-b-, the rest of the team, for that particular reason."

Alan was silent for a moment as he thought these things through. Then he swallowed and took a deep, calming breath. "So they could be fine?" he inquired softly, trying to keep his voice steady. "You're saying that it could just be down to these 'magnetised isomers', or whatever they are, interfering with the comm-signals?"

"That's right." Brains replied. "I can't be, uh, one-hundred percent sh-sh-certain, of course. But this seems to be the most, uh, probable explanation."

Alan allowed his tense shoulders to relax a little, reaching up a hand and rubbing his arm where he had bashed it when he hit the ground. Then suddenly, an idea occurred to him. "Hey Brains," he began. "If you're able to contact me, do you think you'll be able to contact the other guys as well?"

"I should think so." Brains said slowly. "The, uh, frequencies from Thunderbird 5 are a lot c-c-c-stronger than the one's used within the helmets. They r-r-require a different wavelength, and so are able to, uh, pass through the magnetic field that is created by the isomers in the air."

Alan allowed himself a small smile of relief. "Could you see if you can contact them?" Alan asked, his tone hopeful. "Just to see if they're all okay?"

"You got it." Brains replied. "I'll c-c-contact you as soon as I've gotten through to them, alright?"

"F.A.B." Alan said automatically. There was a soft '_click'_ as the transmission ended, and he slumped down against the console, leaning his helmeted head in his hands. Breathing slowly in and out, he tried to calm his racing heartbeat. Glancing over at the make-shift thermal pressure scanner, Alan noted with satisfaction and relief that none of the other canisters were in danger of blowing up any time soon. So all Alan had to do was sit there until Brains contacted him, or until (if luck would allow it) Gordon returned to Mobile Control; whichever came first. Sighing, Alan gazed out across the danger zone, his eyes flickering over the smoking ruins of the complex, almost as though he were hoping to see the familiar and welcoming shape of the Firefly. But no such sign appeared to him.

Now, he began the longest waiting game of his life.

* * *

**_Will Brains be able to contact the boys before they all fall into panic? Will communications be restores between the brothers? Will the rescue continue to go downhill from this point onwards? And what will Jeff and Thomas think when they discover all that has happened? Find out next time!_**

**_Okay, guys, that's it for today. This chapter was a little bit shorter than it normally would be, because the next one is verylong in comparison, and I had to leave it here in order that everything continues to flow. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it. PLEASE REVIEW and tell me what you thought. And hey! This ending wasn't as cruel as the last one, was it? Lol._**

**_Note: The next chapter will be up on Sunday evening. See ya then!_**

**_xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox_**


	11. Chapter 11: The Countdown to Danger

**_I'm back!_**

_**Hi guys! Yes, it's Sunday already. See, waiting wasn't all that taxing, was it? And now that I'm back, you can prepare yourselves for an extra-long chapter in celebration of the fact that my Biology professor (God bless him) has cancelled the test tomorrow **and **he hasn't given us any prep work for the lesson. So I'm happy! This is the first Sunday evening when I haven't had to do some sort of studying for college, and I'm certainly making the most of it.**_

**_Thanks for all the awesome reviews, your feedback helped to fuel my determination to post the chapter today. And it's good to see some familiar pen-names who haven't cropped up for a while now. Welcome back, and thanks for reviewing! And for those who don't have profiles, I just want you to know that your reviews are also greatly appreciated. Love ya!_**

**_Now, let us continue with the story..._**

* * *

Gordon had just finished clearing a path using the Firefly when his younger brother's voice crackled through the speakers on the control panel in front of him, taking the aquanaut completely by surprise.

_"This is International Rescue to all personnel_," Alan's voice yelled, sounding both urgent and formal at the same time. "_The refinery canister in section B-7 is very unstable! Please evacuate areas B-7 to B-9 and retreat back from the main gates immediately! Repeat, the canister in section B-7 is unstable, do not attempt to approach the area! Evacuate immediately! This is a code-red situation, all personnel must-"_

A deafening '_boom_' cut the tension within the cabin of the Firefly, and Gordon gripped tightly onto the edge of the control panel as the rescue machine vibrated with the force of the explosion.

"What on earth-?" he exclaimed, his heart leaping up into his throat. In a matter of seconds, the noise had died down, and Gordon was left hunched over the control panel, his heart thumping loudly in his chest.

"What the do-hickey-heck was that?!" he asked in a hoarse whisper, pressing a sequence of buttons on the panel and activating the external scanners. He ran his eyes over the readings, a frown forming upon his face as he noticed the sudden increase in heat in the section near the main gate. Alan's message suddenly registered within his brain.

_The canister! It must have blown. I'm glad it wasn't near any of the main buildings, or we'd be in big trouble. _Then Gordon froze, the message replaying itself over and over in his mind. _Hang on a sec - B-7? That - that's the area right next to Mobile Control. Dammit!_

Pressing the comm-button, Gordon punched in the code for Mobile Control. "Firefly to 'Control, come in." he called, his head spinning slightly as the seconds of silence dragged on. "Mobile Control, this is Firefly. Please respond!"

When the line remained silent, he flicked a switch and transferred the signal to a private channel, linking the call to the radio in Alan's helmet. "Alan, where are you, are you alright?" he asked, louder this time. Again, there was nothing. Growling in frustration, Gordon slammed his hand down on the console. "Dammit, Sprout, answer me!" he yelled.

The minutes ticked by, with not a sound to be heard other than Gordon's harsh breathing as he fought down panic. _He's fine. He's absolutely fine. 'Cause if he's not, I'm gonna personally kick his sorry little ass for getting into trouble so soon after rejoining the team. Darn it, why do these sorta things always have to happen to the kid? I should never have left him alone at Mobile Control. Canister B-7 must have been one of the more volatile syrilium fractions; the ones that John was telling us about. Man, I'm such an idiot! Alan was sitting next to a damn time-bomb!_

As Gordon's anger began to boil within him, so did his sense of determination. Putting ther Firefly into reverse, he swung her around and pointed her in the direction of the main gates on the other side of the complex. Even at maximum speed, it was still going to take him a couple of minutes to manoever himself around the buildings and the fallen signal towers. But nothing was going to stop him from reaching Mobile Control. Powering up his rescue vehicle, Gordon began to zoom back towards the front of the danger zone, swerving around the smoking debris, his eyes locked out in front of him. Gritting his teeth, he took a steady breath and clamped down on his emotions. There was no time to think; speed was of the essence.

He had a brother to save.

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Scott took a deep, calming breath as he allowed his brother's words to sink in. His brain seemed to stumble clumsily as it thought things over. _B-7. Mobile control was near section B-7. Alan was near the explosion, and now he's not responding. Oh...damn._

"We have to go back for him!" Virgil stated, only just managing to maintain his outward calm. The brotherly side of Scott was screaming to agree, but the more rational field commander side of his Thunderbird personality was shaking it's head. After a few moments of silence, in which Scott fought inwardly with himself, Scott's shoulders sagged and he shook his head slowly.

"What?!" Virgil exclaimed, spinning around to face his older sibling. "And why the hell not?!"

"We can't just abandon these people." Scott explained, waving a hand in the general direction of the pile of debris. "It's our duty to get them out safely, Virge. You know that. And Alan knows that, too."

"Dammit, Scott, he's just a kid!" Virgil argued, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. "He could be injured! I need to find him!"

Scott felt the pain in his chest increase, and he bit the inside of his cheek. Again, his _'I'm-a-rational-field-commander_' side battled inwardly with his natural protective instinct. He wanted to do nothing more than grab both John and Virgil, and speed off back towards Mobile Control. But he knew that he couldn't just ignore the needs of the trapped scientists. With forced calmness, he shook his head again.

"Virge, protocol states that-" he began softly.

"To hell with protocol!" Virgil snapped back, with a ferocity that Scott had not seen in a very long while. Scott suspected that his anger was partly being fueled by Virgil's fear for theiryounger brother; and darn it, Scott knew just how he felt. Forever the peacemaker, John stepped up to Virgil's side and put a hand on his arm.

"Virge, listen to yourself." he said calmly. "You're not thinking straight. You know the rules. It wouldn't be right to just abandon the casualties like that. It's our job to save them."

Virgil took in a shaky breath. "We can't just abandon Alan, either." he stated, his voice slightly hoarse. Scott reached out a hand and squeezed his younger brother's shoulder.

"We're not abandoning him." he said firmly. "I'm going back to look for him. But I need you and John to stay here, understood? We have a job to do. I'll go find Alan on my own. He'll be okay, Virge. You'll see."

Virgil blinked, his breathing ragged as he digested all that Scott had just told him. "But-" he protested. "But Scott, what of he's-"

"He'll be _fine_." Scott repeated. "And besides, all the local emergency medics are in that area. They'll be able to treat him if he's hurt. But those scientists in there need you, Virge. And you're the only doctor we've got. For all we know, some of the casualties could be critically injured. Our EMT training can only go so far, you know. We're counting on you to help them. Do you understand what I'm saying, Virge?"

Virgil took another deep breath and nodded his head. "Understood."

Scott squeezed the shoulder one more time. "Good man."

Then, throwing one leg over his hover-sled, he gunned the engine. "Get through to those scientists as fast as you can." he instructed swiftly. "See if you can contact Gordon, maybe he'll be able to direct the rescue teams to this area so that they can help us get the casualties outta here. Keep me informed of your progress. I'll call as soon as I reach Mobile Control."

"F.A.B." John replied, moving to adjust the angle of the laser-cutter. "And Scott?"

The eldest Tracy-son paused, looking back over his shoulder towards where the two other team members stood. "Yeah?"

John looked eyes with Scott, the tinted visors unable to conceal the worried frowns on both their faces. The astronaut let out a slow breath, trying to visibly relax. "Drive fast, alright?"

Scott nodded his head once, his muscles tense. "You got it."

Then he was off down the corridor, the engines of his hover-sled whirring loudly in the empty silence of the night.

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Alan's arm throbbed dully as he picked up the repair kit and set it down on top of one of the control panels. Wincing, he rubbed at his forearm, trying to alleviate the twinge.

"Are you alright, sir?"

Alan turned slightly, glancing over at the young scientist who stood on the other side of Mobile Control. He smirked behind his helmet, knowing that the oxygen mask would conceal his mouth, and tried not to chuckle. It was weird having a guy twice your age call you 'sir'. Alan was sure that, had the scientist known just how young he was, he would not have been treated with the same respect and politeness. But still, it was fun while it lasted.

"I'm fine." he replied calmly, even though his chest continued to tighten with the worry he felt for his older brother.

"Are you sure?" the older man pressed. "Your arm seems to be bothering you a bit."

"It's nothing, sir. I just bashed it when I jumped on top of you." Alan assured him. "Sorry about that, by the way."

The scientist smiled shakily, his eyes flickering back over to the smoking hole in the security fence, where the canister had all but disintegrated the metal wiring. He looked at Alan and shook his head. "Don't apologise, sir." he said sincerely. "You probably saved my life when you pulled me down with you. With the amount of debris that was raining down around us, I could have been seriously injured. I'm just sorry that you got hurt in the process."

"I'm not hurt." Alan replied quickly, taking a tool out of his repair kit and kneeling down to examine the area of console that had been damaged by the flying debris. He carefully unfastened that section of panel and studied the dented circuitry inside, before sighing and shaking his head. "Looks like the external scanners are fried." he commented. "I won't be able to follow my team's progress without them. Dammit, can things get any worse?"

The scientist shifted nervously, and Alan realised that his stressed-out attitude was doing nothing towards helping to calm the older man. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to relax, and began to fix the panel back in place again.

"Any news on whether or not your team has been able to locate my colleagues?" the other man asked, not knowing of the present communications dilemma. Alan's hands froze in their task, and he closed his eyes momentarily, fighting against the dread that began to bubble up inside of him.

"No, I haven't heard from them in a while." he replied, his voice strained.

Swallowing, he clenched his hands into fists, not caring that the hard tool bit into the palm of his gloved hand. Standing up slowly, he threw the tool back intothe repair kit and rubbed his arm again. What was taking Brains so long? It had been almost four minutes since the older man had cut transmission with him so that he could try and contact Alan's brothers. Either Thunderbird 5 had been unable to raise the other team members on their comm-signals, or the older Tracy boys were stressing out and Brains was trying to calm them down. Alan prayed to God that it was the latter of the two possibilities.

Taking another deep breath, he picked up the tool again and dropped to his knees beside the control panel. He might not be able to fix the darn thing, but at least trying gave him something to do. It was better than just standing there doing nothing, anyway.

His attention focused on the circuitry in front of him, and his own blood pounding furiously in his ears, Alan neither heard nor saw the sudden arrival of the Firefly.

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"_Thunderbird 5 to Scott, c-come in please."_

Scott slammed on the breaks, coming to an abrupt halt, his body lurching forward with the force of the full-stop. He had only just exited the main science building, and had been about to increase speed to maximum so that he could reach the gates as fast as possible. Taking in a shocked breath upon hearing the sudden voice in his helmet, he gripped onto the handles of the hover-sled, his muscles tense.

"Brains!" he responded immediately, relieved beyond words to hear the older man's voice, and cursing himself inwardly for not having contacted the space station beforehand. "Brains, we have a situation down here. There was an explosion, and one of the canisters blew - the one right next to Mobile Control! Brains, I need you to run a sc-"

_"Scott, relax."_ Brains soothed. "_Alan's alright. In fact, I just spoke to him a m-m-moment ago."_

"Is he alright?" Scott demanded worriedly, although relieved beyond belief that Alan had actually been _able_ to talk to Brains. He wasn't dead, at least; and that was always a good thing.

"From what I can tell, he's, uh, he's a-alright." Brains replied. "But you know what Alan's like, he could still be, uh, in-in-in- hurt. But don't worry, the site-readings are coming through now, and I can see that Gordon is d-d-making his way back to Mobile Control."

Scott sighed in relief, glad that Alan was going to be taken care of. Then he straightened up, frowning slightly. "Brains, what's going on?" he asked. "Why couldn't we contact Mobile Control? Was it damaged in the explosion?"

"N-not that I'm aware of." the scientist said thoughtfully. "Although Alan didn't really say much, other than to tell me about the explosion and his l-l-lack of contact with the rest of the, uh, the team. No, the communications mal-mal-mal- problem is a result of the explosion. The gases are, uh, highly magnetised, and they're interfering with the short-wave radio frequencies. But it, uh, it appears to be c-c-clearing up now. I suspect that you'll have, uh, complete radio ability within the next five m-m-minutes."

Scott felt the stress gradually begin to ebb away, and his tense shoulders relaxed a little. "Thank God." he murmured, loosening his grip on the handles of the hover-sled and flexing his stiff fingers. He restarted the engine and did a u-turn, heading back towards the entrance to the science building.

"Brains," he said suddenly. "Could you contact Dad and give him the basics of what's happened. I don't want him to have to wait until local communications are back up again. And also, something tells me that he'll take it a whole lot better coming from you."

Scott heard Brains laugh heartily. "In other words, you're, uh, too w-worried that he'll - what's the term - 'freak out' on you?"

Scott grinned, steering the hover-sled through the doors of the complex and into the dark corridor. "I knew I could always count on you, Brains. I'll keep you updated on our progress. Notify me as soon as normal communication lines are up and running again."

"F.A.B." Brains replied. "And d-don't worry, Scott. Alan's fine."

"Yeah," Scott murmured softly, smiling at the old family friend's ability to read him so easily. "I know. Thanks, Brains."

As the call ended with a soft '_click_', Scott was left alone in the empty corridor, the steady whirring of his hover-sled engine the only sound that could be heard. But, despite the severity of the situation, Scott had a strong urge to jump for joy. His younger brothers, both Alan _and_ Gordon, were alright. And now he had a job to do. There were people to save and fires to put out.

It was time to get back to work.

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Gordon slammed on the breaks of the Firefly and threw off his safety-belt, cutting the power to the engines and switching off the rescue machine. Not even bothering to complete the standard diagnostic checks, he grabbed his helmet and shoved it onto his head, running towards the hatch at the far end of the cabin. Punching in the access code, he unlocked the hatch door and wrenched it open, practically diving out of it in his haste to exit the machine. Landing with knees bent on the hard ground, he turned around and slammed the hatch door shut once again.

Breathing heavily, his heart thumping in his chest, Gordon glanced around frantically until he spotted Mobile control. The metallic control panels were adorned with dozens of tiny lights, which would methodically flash different colours. Gordon was relieved to see that it still looked relatively intact, other than being covered in a fine layer of dirt and small debris. Then Gordon gasped as he spotted a figure - a figure wearing a very familiar uniform - who was crouching down beside one of the control panels.

Breaking into a run, Gordon darted across the ground towards Mobile Control, not caring about the surprised looks on the faces of the local rescue personnel as he sped past. Pumping his legs as fast as they would go, he sprinted the final few metres towards his younger brother, dropping to his knees beside him with a loud '_thunk_'.

Alan had just finished untangling the charred wires within the section of the damaged comm-panel that he was working on, when he detected a movement to his left. Looking up, he barely had time to register the presence of the uniformed figure beside him, before he was pulled quickly into a firm hug. Blinking in surprise, his brain finally caught up with him, and he gasped slightly.

"Gordon?"

The helmeted head nodded, the older teenager's arms squeezing him tighter, and Alan dropped his tool to the ground so that he could return the embrace. They remained like that for a few moments, Gordon's heavy breathing the only sound that penetrated the comfortable silence.

"You okay?" Gordon whispered at last, his worried voice filtering through the speaker in Alan's helmet.

Surprised by the emotion in his older brother's voice, Alan drew back slightly, gazing into Gordon's face through the slightly tinted visor. Although Gordon's mouth and nose was covered by the oxygen mask, his clear green eyes were all Alan needed to see in order to realise just how frightened Gordon had been about him.

"Alan, are you alright?" Gordon repeated, grasping Alan's arms tightly as his eyes skimmed over his body, looking for any sign of injury. Alan winced as Gordon's hard fingers dug into his bruised arm, pulling away slightly. Gordon noticed this and grabbed the arm in both hands before Alan could detach himself from his older sibling's grasp.

"What is it? What's wrong?" he asked frantically, gently holding the arm as he made to inspect it.

"Nothing, I'm fine." Alan protested, pulling away again. When Gordon moved to take the once more, Alan moved it away angrily. "Dammit, Gordon, it's just a bruise!" Then he sighed, dropping his arm and reaching out to punch Gordon lightly on the shoulder. "Man, it's good to be able to talk to you again." he stated, sighing in relief. "The magnetic field must have - well - demagnetised, or something."

Gordon frowned, wondering if perhaps the exposure to the carbon-syrilium gases had affected his younger sibling's state of mind. "Alan, what are you talking about?" he asked softly. "What magnetic field?"

"When the canister blew, the gases it released formed some sort of magnetic field, and it blocked all short-distance communications." Alan explained, tapping the side of his helmet. "This included our individual radios. That's why I wasn't able to contact you or the other guys after the explosion, we were too far away from each other."

Gordon inhaled deeply, soothing his nerves. "I thought something had happened to you." he murmured quietly. "When I couldn't contact you, I thought you were-"

He broke off, but no more needed to be said for Alan to work out what his older brother had been thinking. Reaching forward, he squeezed Gordon's shoulder gently and locked eyes with him.

"Well, I'm not." he said firmly. "So let's just forget about it for now, okay? We've got a job to do."

Gordon blinked in surprise. "Dude," he murmured in awe. "You totally did a 'Scott' just then."

Alan laughed, standing to his feet and reaching down to give Gordon a hand up. Once the aquanaut had regained his balance, both Tracys became serious and professional once more. Alan bent down to pick up his fallen tool, placing it into the repair kit on top of the control panel and sealing the clasps with two sharp '_clicks_'. Turning back towards Gordon, he straightened his shoulders and allowed his hands to hand loosely at his sides.

"What's the plan of action?" he asked, as several rescue workers ran past Mobile Control and into the danger zone. With a jerk of his thumb, Gordon indicated the two hover-sleds that were stationed a few metres away from Mobile Control.

"We need to join the other guys in the main science building." he stated. "Last report I heard from John was that they were heading down a section of corridor to rescue fourteen survivors. But that was-" he paused, glancing down at his watch. "Over ten minutes ago. I need you to get in contact with Scott and ask him about their progress."

As Gordon moved over to check the supplies in the back of the hover-sleds, Alan groaned inwardly. _I have to contact Scott? What, is he serious?! Scott's gonna totally freak out on me! If I was worried about them after the explosion, it's nothing in comparison with how bad Scott will have been fretting over me. And Gordon knows that. The little sneak._

With a resigned sigh, Alan dialed in the code for Scott's comm-channel on his watch and waited, grimacing. This wasn't going to be pretty.

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Scott jumped off his hover-sled, leaving it parked besides the other two vehicles, and strode over to where Virgil and John were manning the laser-cutter. Virgil was the bright beam at the pile of debris in front of the door, his skilled hands flying across the control board and making the smallest of changes under John's instruction. The older blond-haired Tracy stood at his shoulder, a thermal scanner held in his hand.

"Three inches to the left." Scott heard him say. "You just have one last beam to cut through, then we'll be able to pull the whole thing away from the door."

"Got it." Virgil replied, his fingers skimming over the many switches and buttons as he maneuvered the beam to the left. Scott realised that neither brother had been able to hear his arrival over the loud whine of the laser-cutter. He stood a few metres behind them, allowing them to complete their task, noting with a hint of pride that his younger siblings were working together as well as they always did.

At last, after a few more minutes of silent cutting, John gave Virgil a thumbs-up, and the younger man switched off the machine. It was then that Scott cleared his throat, watching with a small smile as both his younger brothers spun around on the spot.

"Scott!" Virgil exclaimed. "I thought you'd gone to find Alan? Dammit, Scooter, _one_ of us has to go back. You said that-"

Scott held up a hand, walking over to stand at his brother's side. "Virge, calm down." he ordered softly. "It's alright, Alan's fine."

Virgil blinked in surprise. "You've managed to contact him?" he asked. Scott paused.

"Well - not exactly." he began. "But Brains called me a couple of minutes ago. Apparently, the gases produced by the pressurised carbon-syrilium some sorta magnetic field over this site when the canister exploded. He told me that it would wear off in a few more minutes."

"But - but Alan," Virgil persisted. "Is he alright? Is he hurt?"

Scott bit his bottom lip and looked away for a moment. "Brains doesn't think so." he stated.

"Doesn't think so?" Virgil repeated, his voice rising in anger. "Darn it, Scott, you know that the Sprout would never willingly admit to being injured. Aw crap, I should've-"

"_Alan to Scott, come in._"

The three Thunderbirds froze as Alan's calm voice resounded in their helmets. There was a moment of shocked silence, before all three brothers responded at once.

"Sprout, are you alright?"

"Alan, are you hurt?"

"You okay, kiddo?"

There was the sound of Alan sighing deeply, before their younger brother gave a slight chuckle. "You guys seriously need to calm down." he stated. "Yes, Scott, John; I'm fine. And no, Virge, I'm not hurt."

"_He's actually telling the truth about his physical state, for once_." Gordon's voice interjected. "_Apart from a gigantic bruise on his arm, he's relatively unharmed._"

"Gords, where did you come from?" Scott asked in surprise. Like Alan, Gordon let out a long-suffering sigh.

"Honestly, Scooter! At your age I'd have thought that you'd already know about 'the birds and the bees'." he said, his voice lined with amusement. "But, if you really want to know, I'll be quite happy to explain what happens when a man and a woman-"

"Gordon!" four voices yelled at once, successfully shutting the other brother up. Scott shook his head, glad that at least Gordon was fine.

"Gordon, where are you?" he asked, moving to the back of his hover-sled and unclasping the tow-lines. He handed one to each of his brothers, before taking one himself and walking over to the pile of debris, the line of Kevlar-enforced rope trailing behind him.

"Alan and I are at Mobile Control." Gordon replied, all hints of jest forgotten as he slipped back into his role as a responsible team member. "We're shutting everything down; the main scanning equipment was damaged in the explosion."

"But Alan's alright?" Virgil pressed, winding his section of rope around a large metal beam that protruded from the pile and clipping it into place. "He wasn't injured?"

"I've already told you, Virge!" Alan said in an annoyed tone of voice. "I'm fine, alright? I've got a teeny-weeny little bruise on my arm, but that's it. I managed to 'duck and cover' the second that the canister exploded. None of the debris hit me, it all landed on Mobile Control. Now would you please stop stressing?"

Scott secured his own line in place, before moving back over to his hover-sled. "Alright, guys, settle down." he ordered calmly. "John, Virgil, hook'em up." He indicated the tows that were attached to the ends of their own hover-sleds. "We need to clear that door so that we can get those men out."

As Virgil and John set to work hooking up their own lines, Scott settled down onto the seat of his vehicle, breathing slowly to relax his tense muscles. "Alan, Gordon," he said at last. "I want you two to make your way over to the main entrance to science building. Then take a left turn and follow the corridor until you reach a point where it forks. I want you to take the opposite route to us, and go find the other survivors. If the local rescue personnel have already managed to get them outta there, head back our way. Understood?"

"_F.A.B."_ came the replies, in unison. Scott nodded his head approvingly.

"Alright," he sighed, as he saw Virgil secure the final tow line to the pile of debris. "Keep in contact with us, you hear? I want regular updates. If communications are lost again, just continue with what you were doing before. There's no room for panic or time-wasting here, guys. The longer we take, the more serious our situation becomes. We're gonna have to work fast."

"We weren't the ones panicking_._" Gordon mumbled, and Scott bit back a laugh.

"Good luck." he said, seriously. "Scott out."

Tapping his watch face three times, he successfully ended the call, moving his hands back to grip at the handles in front of him. Beside him, John and Virgil were mounting their own hover-sleds.

"Ready guys?" he asked, powering up his engines. His brothers nodded their heads, their own hover-sleds rising up off the floor slightly as they started the engines. They slowly rotated their vehicles around, before locking the clamps on their tow-cables. Scott gripped onto the handles tightly and braced his body for impact.

"On my mark." he stated. "Three...two...one....Go!"

The three hover-sleds moved forwards for about two metres, before jarring to a sudden halt as the cables grew taught. The sudden lurch knocked the wind out of Scott, but he pressed down harder on the energy-booster pedal.

"C'mon, c'mon, c'mon." he coaxed, his jaw set as he heard the metal creak and groan in the pile behind him. Glancing sideways, he saw his younger brothers leaning forward against their vehicles as they tried to accelerate forwards. Then suddenly Scott shot forward, and the pile of debris came crash down in a crescendo of noise. Scott dragged his load for a few more metres, before slamming on the breaks, loosening his grip and sitting up a little straighter.

"I think we did it." Virgil remarked lightly, and Scott turned around in his seat to look at the result of their efforts. The pile of debris now littered the entire corridor, not leaving even a square metre of floor clear between the hover-sleds and the set of double-doors. But the doors themselves were now clear of any obstructions, allowing the rescue to proceed a little more swiftly.

Disconnecting the tow-cables, Scott spun his vehicle around once again and headed back down the corridor, coming to a halt just in front of the doors. Jumping off the hover-sled, he glanced over at the access panel, surprised to see that it was still intact.

"Is everyone alright in there?" Scott yelled, pressing the side of his helmet to activate his microphone. "Did you all stay away from the doors?"

"Yessir!" a voice yelled back, the same man as before. "Did you manage to get through?"

"Yes, we did!" Scott shouted back. "But we can't get through the doors without the access code. Are you able to open the door from the inside?"

"No, the access panel was fried by a fire in the initial earthquake, you'll have to open it from the outside!" the man stated. "The access code is 4-3-7-G-2-5-F-8-8-0-E."

As the man slowly recited the code, Scott leaned over and typed it into the access panel on the wall beside him. After a few seconds, there was a shrill '_beep', _followed by a _'clang'_as the locks on the doors slid back. Then the doors themselves began to slide open, only to become jammed when they were a few inches apart. Scott sighed in frustration, resisting the urge to kick at the door. He'd already bruised enough toes on the last door he tried to kick down.

"Here, let me." John offered, stepping up beside him. As Scott moved over, John raised a thin piece of metal that he had picked up from off the floor, and thrust it in between the doors, using it to widen the gap. Once it was big enough, he and Scott used their body strength to push against the doors until they finally slid back into the door-frame with a loud '_hiss'_ and a '_thunk'_.

The room beyond was dark, darker than the corridor had been at any rate, as the only source of light was the yellow glow of the flashlights that several of the scientist held. However, as Scott stepped through the door, the glow from the lights on his hover-sled cut through the darkness, illuminating the faces of fourteen soot-covered scientists. One of the scientists stood to his feet, a relieved expression plastered across his face.

"Thank God." he breathed, as Scott approached him. The eldest Tracy boy immediately recognised him as the man who had spoken to them through the door. "I don't think Daniel can last much longer without medical treatment."

He indicated a figure lying on the floor a few metres away, surrounded by a few of his worried colleagues. A woman held a gauze pad to the injured man's head, obviously trying to stem the flow of blood that seemed to be oozing from the wound beneath. The casualty himself seemed to be unconscious, his face shockingly pale beneath the sooty smudges.

"V!" Scott called, using Virgil's initial instead of his full name, as the microphone was still on. "Grab your kit, this guy's gonna need your help!"

Virgil nodded, responding to Scott's call immediately. He was used to being addressed as 'V' whenever they were on a rescue mission, as it helped to conceal his identity. Naturally, there weren't a great number of men named 'Virgil', at least no where near as many as there were named 'Scott' or 'John'. Therefore, in order that nobody could trace his name back to the Tracy family, they had agreed from the start that either his nickname, 'Picasso', or his initial 'V' would be used when they were in the presence of non-team members.

In less than ten seconds, Virgil had grabbed his bag from the back of the hover-sled and returned to the casualty's side. Dropping down onto his knees beside him, he took a penlight out of his bag and lifted the scientist's eyelids, flashing the light in his eyes and praying for a good response. However, the results weren't good. Although the left pupil dilated relatively normally, the right pupil remained fully blown. He moved his fingers to the soft point below the man's jaw, checking his pulse. He frowned as he felt the weak and erratic flutter beneath his fingertips.

Tapping the side of his helmet to turn off the microphone, Virgil turned to Scott. "We need to get him outta here." he said softly, not wanting the other scientists to overhear. "One of his pupils has blown. There's definite brain damage, and his pulse is thready. I don't like it."

Turning back towards his patient, he tapped the side of his helmet once again. "How was he injured?" he asked, directing his question towards the man who had spoken before, as he seemed to be in a calmer state of mind than the other personnel.

"When the earthquake hit, Daniel was standing over there by that cabinet." the scientist replied, pointing towards a large cabinet that remained bolted to the far wall. "Anyway, the tremors displaced a metal container that was positioned on the top shelf. It fell down and caught him on the side of his head. Now trust me, that container weighs a heck of a lot. It usually takes two of us even to lift it off the ground. And it hit his head with a heck of a crack."

Virgil nodded to show that he had heard the information, moving to check on the head wound. However, the young female scientist did not seem to want to let go of the gauze pad she held over his forehead. Virgil gently tried to prise her hands away.

"Ma'am?" he said softly, noticing her rapid breathing and pale features. "Ma'am, I need to take a look at his wound. It's alright, you've done a great job so far."

But the woman didn't seem to be able to hear him, as she continued to stare unseeingly at the injured scientist, her hands clamped firmly over the gauze pad. Virgil looked over at Scott and indicated the woman with a nod of his head. Scott moved to crouch down beside her, gently grasping her arms and pulling her away.

"Ma'am, it's alright." he soothed. "We'll take care of him now. You just sit back and rest for a minute."

The woman seemed to notice him for the first time, and blinked rapidly as she squinted in the brighter glow of the portable lamps that John had placed around the room. She gasped, tensing in Scott's arms, and looked at her surroundings. Then, turning to look up at Scott, she swallowed and took in a shaky breath.

"International Rescue?" she inquired, trembling slightly. Scott nodded, grabbing one of the blankets from Virgil's med-kit and wrapping it around her shoulders.

"That's right, ma'am." he said gently, sitting back on his heels as he propped her up against a fallen work-desk. "Don't you worry, we'll have you out of here as soon as possible. Just sit tight for a few minutes whilst we try and make your friend more comfortable, alright?"

At her shaky nod, he stood to his feet once more and moved back over to where Virgil knelt beside the injured man. The scientist who they had spoken to before was squatting down beside them, a worried and fatherly frown playing across his face. The man was middle-aged, athletically built, and with a gentle authority not unlike Jeff's. He was clearly the appointed 'leader' of the personnel, as the rest of the scientists seemed to be perfectly happy with him instructing them on what to do. Crouching down beside the man, Scott put a hand on his shoulder.

"What's your name, sir?" he asked. The scientist turned to look at him, not letting go of the injured man's hand as he did so.

"Dominic." he replied. Scott squeezed the shoulder gently and pointed towards the other survivors.

"Dominic, I need you to do something for me." Scott continued. "I need you to find all the personnel who are uninjured, and direct them to my colleague over there." He pointed towards John, who was running a scanner over the cracked wall on the far side of the room, checking for any serious structural instabilities. "We're going to get you guys outta here in groups, but we'll need to evacuate the injured using our vehicles. All the personnel who can walk, and who don't have serious injuries, need to leave with my colleague."

Dominic nodded, standing to his feet and moving off to the other side of the room to check on the other scientists. As Virgil and Scott were left alone with the injured man, Scott knelt down beside his brother and put a hand on his shoulder. Glancing down at the casualty, he could see that Virgil had already fitted the man into a spinal collar, and was in the process of probing the head injury.

"How bad is it, Virge?" he asked softly, pressing the button on the side of his helmet to switch off the microphone. Virgil sighed, his blood-smeared surgical gloves pausing momentarily in their inspection of the deep wound.

"It's bad, Scott." he replied gravely. "There's definite depression of the skull. And the fact that the right pupil has blown leads me to think that a fragment of the skull may have been driven into his brain. His blood pressure's dropping, his resps aren't good, and his neural responses are practically non-existent. There's extensive damage to his back; clearly the container that fell on him put too much pressure on his spine. All in all, it's not looking good. I've done all I can for him, but the rest needs to be done in hospital. This guy needs emergency brain surgery, and that's not really a procedure that I can do on the field."

Scott nodded solemnly. "I'm gonna contact the paramedics and inform them of the situation. D'you need me for anything?"

"I'll need some help strapping him to the backboard." Virgil stated, securing the new gauze bandage in place, before ripping off his surgical gloves and swapping them for his regular uniform ones. Scott nodded again, and together he and Virgil soon had Daniel secured to the backboard. Once they had completed there task, Virgil sighed and sat back, wiping his brow with his sleeve.

"Are there any more casualties?" he asked, looking over at the other scientists in the room. Scott glanced over at John, noticing that about ten out of the fourteen scientists had joined the blond-haired Tracy where he stood beside the door.

"All the uninjured personnel are over there with John." Scott stated. "So I think it's safe to assume that the others are hurt in some way."

Virgil nodded, standing to his feet and grabbing his med-bag. "I've hooked Daniel up to a diagnostic machine." he stated as he began to walk away. "It'll alert me to any serious problems he's having."

As Virgil moved over to the other side of the room, there was a noise in the doorway. Glancing up, Scott squinted as the bright beam of a flashlight stung in his eyes. However, as his pupils adjusted to the glow and he was able make out the figures who stood in the doorway, he allowed a relieved smile to blossom over his face. One rescue teams had managed to locate them. Seven figures stepped through the door, each wearing an oxygen mask and tank, and carrying stretchers between them.

"Over here!" he called, pressing the button on the side of his helmet and waving over a couple of rescuers. He swiftly briefed them on Daniel's condition, noting with satisfaction that they appeared to know exactly what they were doing as he helped them lift the injured scientist onto the stretcher. Scott disconnected him from the diagnostic equipment as the rescuers hooked him to their own machines, reaching out with two fingers to double-check the pulse. It was still weak and thready, but at least it was _there_.

As the rescue workers swiftly departed with Daniel and two of the other injured scientists, John waved Scott over to him.

"I'm going to escort the remaining scientists to the main entrance." he stated, indicating the group who stood nearby, huddled close to each other. Scott nodded his head in agreement.

"We'll be right behind you." he said calmly, glancing over his shoulder to where Virgil was treating the last of the casualties. "Once we've got the last survivor out of here, we'll meet you at the entrance, alright?"

"F.A.B." John replied, before pressing the side of his helmet. "Okay, everyone. I think it's time we all got outta here, don't you?"

There were relieved nods of agreement from the remaining personnel, and they hurriedly followed John as he strode towards the door and out into the corridor. Scott watched them go, feeling his stress begin to ebb away. They had successfully rescue the majority of the survivors, and those that they had not yet reached would most likely be found by the local rescue teams. Perhaps, just perhaps, their job was almost done.

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Brains' eyes flicked from monitor to monitor as he checked and double-checked his readings. His blood ran colder and colder, until he felt light-headed and nauseous. When the results continued to come back positive, he blanched, leaping out of his chair and slamming his hand down onto the communications button.

"Thunderbird 5 to International Rescue team!" he yelled, his worry and urgency expelling the usual stutter from his speech. "Sensors detect that tectonic activity in your area is increasing at a dangerously fast rate! There is another earthquake heading your way! I repeat, there will be a second earthquake in your area in less than fifteen seconds! Follow standard procedure and do what you can to protect yourselves I repeat, there is a-"

Suddenly, a shrill alarm cut him off. The readings on the screen in front of him suddenly spiked, and the words caught in his throat. Feeling his heart leap up into his throat, Brains watched in distress as the earthquake continued to rage for a full thirty seconds, until finally the readings plummeted back down to normal levels.

As the station fell silent, Brains was left sitting in the command chair, breathing heavily. Closing his eyes, he ran a shaky hand over his face, praying that the Tracy boys, who he considered to be as good as nephews to him, had not fallen foul of Mother Nature once again.

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**_Were the boys injured during the earthquake? Will they be able to find each otherin the chaos that will no doubt ensue? And how will Jeff and Tom react to the news that another earthquake has struck Callingiri whilst the boys are still there? Find out soon!_**

**_That's it for now, folks. So, who can guess which brothers have been injured? Cookies go to the reader who guesses correctly. Believe me, it's not the usual bunch. Anyway, what did you think of the chapter? It was nice and long, wasn't it? The final count is 8200 words, so no complaining about it's shortness, okay? Lol. I know, nasty cliffie, but not half as bad as the one next time! Ha ha ha!_**

**_And sorry, no updates till later this week. I've got dance classes every night this week in preparation for our big shows over the Christmas holidays, so between that and college, I'm not gonna have much time to breathe. But, if I can manage, I'll post on Thursday._**

**_Now REVIEW PLEASE, and tell me what you thought about it. My eager mind wishes to know what bits might need altering, be it in spelling or grammer. Or, if you hates it, feel free to say that, too. Although if you do, take note that I'll never speak to you again. :^D - No pressure. Lol._**

**_Laters!_**


	12. Chapter 12: Surviving Mother Nature

**_Greetings!_**

**_Yes, it's me; your clumsy-but-overly-optimistic friend! Is it really Thursday already? That's ridiculous! Where did the week disappear off to?! But it's snowed this week, so I'm feeling the Christmas cheer over here in London! Plus I just helped the family decorate the house, so that's only served to heighten my excitement! Except I've been doing two-hour dancing classes every evening this week, so I'm kinda tired. And I can't even rest at the weekend, 'cause I'll just have more dance lessons then! ('groans') My feet can't take much more!_**

**_Anyway, enough of my whining. There were plenty of things to cheer me up this week, such as all the fantabulistic (that's my word of the week) reviews that you sent me! Thank you! It never fails to make me smile when I discover that somebody has enjoyed reading one of my chapters. You rock, guys!_**

**_This chapter is dedicated to Lissysue85 and I-like-chickens , who have both been feeling a little under the weather this week. Hope this makes you feel better!_**

**_Now, after the evil cliffie last time, I guess I left you all at a tense moment. In order that you understand what's going on, I'll just point out to you that this chapter begins a little while before the end of the last one. But that should be obvious once you start reading._**

**_So, without further ado, let us continue...._**

* * *

Alan strapped the stretcher onto the back of his hover-sled, being careful not to jostle it about too much. A few metres away, he saw Gordon crouch down and shuffle back through the hole in the wall so that he could check on the remaining scientist within the collapsed laboratory. Glancing back down at his hands again, Alan concentrated on his task. Once the clasps were secured in place, he straightened up and bent over the casualty, reaching out with a gloved hand to tap her on the face gently.

"Hannah, you've gotta try and stay awake." he stated slowly and clearly, as she opened weary eyes to peer up at him through the gloom. She shifted uncomfortably in the safety straps that we holding her down on the stretcher, wincing as the movement caused pain in her broken leg. "I know that the pain meds we gave you _are_ making you feel exhausted, but we need you to keep your eyes open for just a little longer, alright? Just until we get back outside."

Grimacing, the female scientist blinked and nodded her head ever so slightly. Alan reached out to pat her shoulder encouragingly. "Okay. Now, I need to go back in there and help my colleague to get your friend out. It'll only take us a few minutes. But remember what I said to you; try to stay awake, alright?"

Again, she gave a slight nod of her head, and Alan stood to his feet, moving over towards the hole in the wall.

"Gords?" he called, not bothering to switch to a private channel. "You all set?"

"Yup!" came the reply. "Ready when you are!"

With Alan's assistance, the Gordon successfully managed to carry out the final casualty, setting the loaded stretcher down on the back of his hover-sled. Gordon bet down to secure it in place, whilst Alan hovered above the man's head, noting with a worried frown that he had not yet regained consciousness.

"Is - is Nick okay?" Hannah gasped, trying to crane her neck around to see the other scientist. Gordon moved from Nick's side, jogging over the few metres between the two hover-sleds, and putting a gentle hand on her shoulder as her breathing pattern began to quicken.

"Hannah." he said softly, as she continued to struggle. "Hey, easy, easy. Hannah, it's gonna be okay. He's gonna be alright. Just calm down, sweetheart. Let's get you and Nick outta here, okay?"

With a nod to Alan, the brothers swapped places and mounted their respective vehicles, powering up the engines. Gordon glanced over at Alan as he began to lead the way back down the debris-littered corridor, the lights on his hover-sled illuminating the massive cracks and holes in the ceiling above them.

"Let's make this quick, Al." he called, gaining speed as he put his foot down on the booster. "I wanna get Nick into an ambulance as quickly as possible."

"F.A.B." Alan replied, matching Gordon's speed as they made their way back towards the entrance to the building. After less than a minute, the faint orange glow that shone through the open doors illuminated the passage up ahead. With a final burst of speed, the two Thunderbirds emerged from the science complex, breathing a sigh of relief as they caught sight of a number of rescue vehicles about thirty metres away.

"Alan, head over to the site rescuers." Gordon instructed. "Once the casualties are in good hands, we'll contact Scott and discuss the next move, alright?"

"Roger that." Alan smiled. It was rare to see Gordon this - sensible. But Alan knew that he only reserved such behaviour for rescues. The chances of Gordon _ever_ acting his age under normal circumstances were exceedingly slim. But that's what made Gordon so unique, and Tracy family wouldn't have him any other way.

As he neared the rescue vehicles, Alan spotted a small group of about nine or ten scientists, whose lab coats had been turned an interesting shade of black and grey from the soot and dirt caused by the fires. In the midst of the scientists stood a very familiar figure, who appeared to be talking with one of the rescue medics as he gestured to specific personnel. As Alan watched, he finished speaking to the medic and moved away, rounding the side of an ambulance and beginning to jog in Alan's direction, although his head was down and he appeared not to have noticed the two hover-sleds. Alan came to a halt a few metres away from the closest vehicle, pressing his fingers to the side of his helmet.

"John?" he called, powering down his engine and standing up off the hover-sled. He saw John's head snap up, a flash of light glinting off the visor of his helmet as he turned towards his younger sibling.

"Alan?!" came the surprised reply, before John broke into a sprint, running swiftly up to where Alan stood. Without any further greeting, he clamped both his hands on Alan's upper arms and peered at Alan through the tinted visor, his brow furrowing slightly. Alan saw the look and rolled his eyes.

"John, I'm fine." he stated, pushing John's hand away from his bruised arm. "I've already told you that. Would you please relax?"

John's eyes softened, and he patted Alan on the shoulder gently. "Sorry, kid. It's an automatic reaction, I can't really help it."

"Yeah, I've noticed." Alan mumbled good-naturedly, moving over to the back of his hover-sled and bending down to lean over the injured female scientist. Pressing the side of his helmet once more, he switched his microphone back on. "Hannah?" he called quietly, beginning to unclasp the safety belts that cris-crossed over both her body and the stretcher. "How are you feeling?"

The brown-haired woman swallowed, her weary blue eyes flickering from John to Alan in obvious confusion, before she licked her dry lips and sighed in exhaustion. "I just wanna sleep." she admitted.

Alan smiled behind his oxygen mask, carefully taking her wrist and feeling for the pulse. The strong, steady rhythm beneath his fingers came as a relief, and stood up to wave a couple of medics over. When they arrived, he quickly briefed them on her condition, before bending back down again as they prepared to move the casualty over to the ambulance.

"You take care, Hannah." he said softly. "And next time, keep away from the cabinet when an earthquake hits, okay?"

She smiled weakly, mouthing a weary '_Thank you_', before the medics lifted the stretcher between them and carried her off towards the rescue vehicle nearby. Alan dusted off his gloves on the legs of his uniform, looking over to where Nick was being tended to by another pair of medics. As he watched, Gordon gave one of the rescue workers a thumbs-up and began to walk towards them.

"Hey John." he greeted, as the older Tracy clapped him on the shoulder. "What's the situation with you guys?"

"Virgil and Scott are still in the complex, as far as I know." John replied, perching on the seat of Alan's hover-sled and leaning his elbow on one of the handle-bars. "They're securing the last casualty for transport. Once everybody's been evacuated from that area of the complex, we're supposed to rendez-vous at the entrance to the science building in order to plan our next course of action."

Gordon nodded, glancing over his shoulder towards the remaining rescue workers. "The site official wants to have a word with one of us so that he can give us an update on the number of missing personnel that have yet to be found. Why don't Alan and I stay here and find out what's going on, and we'll use the 'sleds to get back to the building as soon as we're done?"

"Good idea." John agreed, standing to his feet and flexing his arms. "Call if you need us for anything. And then see if you can contact Dad, I don't think he's had an update from Brains since the communications blackout, and protocol states that we have to call base at least once every two hours to brief him on our view of the situation."

Alan and Gordon both nodded in reluctant agreement, and John clapped them both on the shoulder encouragingly. Then, turning around on the spot, he began to jog back towards the science building in the distance. Alan watched him go for a few moments, before something - or, rather, _someone_ - poked him in the side. He jumped, taking a step backwards and turning to glare at Gordon, whose green eyes were sparkling in amusement. Shaking his head, Alan walked on by him, mumbling "_Jerk_" fondly and nudging him roughly with his shoulder. As they walked towards the site commander, who stood in the centre of the small handful of rescue vehicles that remained in the area, both Alan and Gordon reached up to activate their microphones.

"You wanted to speak to us?" Gordon questioned, coming to stand beside the middle-aged man. He looked up and, upon seeing the two uniformed figured in front of him, broke into a smile.

"Greg Peterson." he introduced, offering his hand to both Gordon and Alan. "I'm in charge of managing the local rescue teams. I'm happy to inform you that all but three of the missing personnel have been located, and that there have been no fatalities as far as we know. There have been some close calls, mind, but we've managed to save all the casualties that we have uncoverd so far. I just wanted to thank you for all the marvelous work you've done this evening. We really owe you fellas a lot. Without your equipment, none of our vehicles would have been able to make it into the danger zone, and very few of the scientists would've been rescued."

"Don't mention it." Gordon replied, and Alan could here the smile in his voice. "We just do what we can. I'm glad we could be of service."

Greg smiled again, his eyes twinkling in gratification. "God bless you." he said sincerely. "And God bless your organisation. The world needs more men like you." Then, letting out a weary sigh, he signaled to a nearby rescuer to come over, before turning back to Gordon and Alan. "We'll keep searching for the three missing personnel." he said, his voice soft and clear. "But I think we've taken up enough of your time. We should be able to handle it from here."

"Are you sure?" Alan asked, glancing out over the danger zone and spotting a few remaining piles of smouldering debris. "If you need our help, we'll gladly be of service to you."

Greg shook his head, but he was still smiling. "Thank you, but no. We wouldn't want to misuse your equipment. the remaining fires are weak enough to either burn out on their own, or to be put out by our fire crews. There's no real need for you to stay now that you've assisted us in getting the situation under control."

Gordon nodded in agreement, reaching out to clap the older man on the shoulder. "Then I guess we'll go gather our team and head back to base." he stated. "The best of luck to you, friend. It's been an honour working with your rescue crews, and I truly hope that you will be able to locate the missing personnel. And if you ever require our assistance again, don't hesitate to call us."

Greg shook hands with him once again. "I'll remember that. Thank you."

Then Gordon put a hand on Alan's arms and steered him around the side of the rescue vehicle, heading back over to their abandoned hover-sleds. Both Tracy-sons pressed the button on the side of their helmets to switch off their microphones, walking in step with each other as they allowed themselves to relax, the rescue officially completed.

"Well," Gordon sighed. "I think that's another job well done. The majority of the victims have been saved, and the Thunderbirds have earned themselves a _big _mug of hot chocolate, and a plate of Onaha's chocolate-fudge cookies."

Alan grinned, letting out a slight chuckle.

"What?" Gordon asked slowly, amusement lining his voice. Alan shrugged.

"Oh, nothing." he replied lightly.

Gordon pushed him forward in retaliation. "C'mon, kid, spill it." he pressed. Then, putting on an evil, cackling voice, he added, "I have ways of making you talk!"

Alan laughed again. "It's just that - well -" he paused, pretending to be deep in thought. "I could've _sworn_ you sounded like somebody else just now."

Gordon turned to Alan as they arrived at the hover-sleds, his brow furrowed inquisitively. "Oh?" he asked. "Who?"

Alan grinned. "John."

"What?!" Gordon squeaked, looking thoroughly disgusted by the idea. "I, 'Gordon-the-awesome-cool-dude Tracy', sounded like that boring old book-worm?!"

Alan chuckled, nodding his head. "The fondness in your voice when you mentioned the word 'chocolate'? That was totally a Johnism."

"A what?" the copper-haired teenager inquired. Alan moved away from his hover-sled, as though trying to put distance between himself and Gordon.

"A 'Johnism'." he repeated. "It's the title I give to any act or phrase that is A-typical of John. And the adoration of chocolate is _definitely_ on that list."

Gordon stepped forward, clearly ready to pull Alan into a headlock. "Why you little-"

"_Thunderbird 5 to International Rescue team!"_

Alan and Gordon both froze to the spot upon hearing Brains' grave and worried tones. However, the most concerning aspect of the sudden call was the fact that Brains wasn't stuttering in his usual fashion. Something was terribly wrong.

_"Sensors detect that tectonic activity in your area is increasing at a dangerously fast rate! There is another earthquake heading your way! I repeat, there will be a second earthquake in your area in less than fifteen seconds! Follow standard procedure and do what you can to protect yourselves. I repeat, there is a-"_

Alan felt the ground beneath his feet begin to shudder. The vibrations became stronger and more intense, and Alan heard a rumble as debris and rumble began to fall down in the unstable areas all over the danger zone.

"Alan, look out!" Gordon yelled, grabbing Alan by the arm and yanking him away as a large pile of debris - the very same pile that Gordon had created whilst he was clearing a path for the rescue vehicles - came crashing down in an avalanche of twisted metal and lumps of concrete. Alan was thrown off balance by the sharp tug of his brother's hands, and went sprawling on the floor beside his hover-sled. As he fell, he landed on his already-bruised arm, grunting as the hard ground slammed into his body full-force.

Alan clenched his eyes shut and gritted his teeth as the earth shook beneath him. The tremors seemed to travel up and down his entire body, vibrating his very bones as the whole world shook mightily. The bangs and crashes of falling metal and concrete drowned out the sound of his heavy breathing, and he tensed up in his position on the ground, half expecting to be crushed any second.

Suddenly, their was an almighty '_boom_', and Alan's eyes snapped open, his head darting upwards in the direction of the deafening sound. In the distance, one of the larger refinery canisters had exploded, shooting blinding yellow flames high into the inky blackness of the night sky. Orange-brown smoke billowed forth as the flames vapourised the fuel, and it began to drift over the rest of the danger zone, carried on a light breeze.

Then, as quickly as the tremors had begun, they stopped. The ground beneath Alan's body ceased to tremble, and he lay there for a moment, still in shock, panting as his mind tried to catch up with what had just happened.

Gordon winced as he pushed himself up off the ground, the top of his hand throbbing from where a small section of a broken induction coil had sliced through his glove as he fell. Looking around frantically, he spotted Alan lying on the floor beside his hover-sled, surrounded by fallen metal poles and lumps of concrete. He gasped as he saw how close a larger lump had come to landing on the teenager's head, lying only inches away from the boy's helmet.

"Alan!" he exclaimed, rushing over to his brother's side and dropping to his knees. Alan shifted slightly, and Gordon put a hand on the small of his back to still his movements. "Don't move, Sprout." he instructed softly. "You might be hurt."

Alan's helmet moved from side to side as he shook his head. "I'm - I'm okay, Gords." he panted, before slowly pushing himself up into a sitting position.

Gordon looked around and, realising that all the rescue personnel had moved out of the area a few moments before the earthquake hit, reached up and unclasped the locks on his visor, pressing the button so that it slid up into his helmet. Although the oxygen mask was still in place, he felt that he had more freedom to talk to his brother without the sheet of tinted visor in between them. Having noticed what his brother was doing, Alan reached up and did the same with his own visor, before shuffling forward slightly and gripping Gordon's shoulder.

"You okay?" he asked worriedly. Gordon nodded once, his eyes already scanning Alan's body for injuries.

"I'm fine, Sprout." came the murmured reply, as Gordon ran his hands down Alan's arms. Alan winced as his brother's fingers squeezed over his bruised skin, and Gordon's frown creased in concern. "What's wrong?"

"It's nothing." Alan replied dismissively, standing to his feet and glancing around him. "It's just a bruise."

Gordon stood up and, keeping one hand on Alan's shoulder, allowed his eyes to travel over the devastation that had been caused by the recent earthquake. Fires had once again sprung up all over the place, the damaged electrical equipment sparking into flame as the spilt chemicals and fallen debris provided the perfect burning fuel. Suddenly, he heard Alan gasp, and spun around in order to see what his younger brother was staring at. Then he, too, froze to the spot, his blood running cold. The entrance to the main science building in the distance - the very same entrance where John had been standing only moments before, waiting for Virgil and Scott to emerge - had collapsed in on itself, and was now nothing more than a closed wall of twisted metal and broken rubble.

"Oh God, no. Please no." Alan whispered, his voice hoarse in Gordon's ear. "John!"

Gordon immediately reached up to snap his visor back down, before punching John's radio frequency code into his wrist-watch and take in a steady breath. "Gordon to John, come in." he called, his heart thudding in his chest and his stomach churning mightily. "John, can you here me? C'mon, John, talk to me. Are you alright?"

"Don't bother." Alan murmured, his voice hollow. Gordon looked at him in surprise.

"What? What d'you mean?" he asked, his head beginning to feel light as his breathing rate increased.

"The canister in section F-5 just blew." Alan stated, his voice flat and emotionless. "The gases are gonna block our short-range radio signals. You and I can only talk because we're standing so close together. But we've been completely cut off from the other guys. We can't - it's not - Oh God, please don't do this."

The last part was barely a whisper, and Gordon turned to grasp Alan firmly by both shoulders. "Alan, listen to me." he instructed clearly. "Look at me, Sprout. Good. Alright, now listen: you and I need to go in there and get the John out, d'you understand? He could be hurt, so we'll have to work quickly. But we've saved people from these types of situation before, Al. Just keep your head, and everything will be fine. We'll get him outta there, you'll see."

Alan nodded his head, immediately calming as Gordon's orders switched on the professional side of his Thunderbird personality. Reaching up, he lowered his visor and let out a shaky breath. "What about Virge and Scott?" he asked suddenly.

Gordon moved over to his hover-sled, glad to see that neither his nor Alan's vehicle had suffered any obvious damage in the earthquake - now their job would be made much easier. "Scott and Virgil were still in the heart of the building, as far as I know." he answered finally. "The chances are that they managed to avoid being injured when the entrance fell in. I mean for all we know, the rest of the complex could be perfectly intact."

Alan nodded silently, mounting his own vehicle and powering up the engine. However, as much as he wanted to believe Gordon's words, he had a terrible feeling in the pit of his stomach that his older siblings had not managed to escape the earthquake unscathed.

Pressing down firmly on the hover-sleds' power-boosters, the two brothers shot off towards the main science building, both determined not to lose another family member to the forces of Mother Nature.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Virgil secured the stretcher to the back of Scott's hover-sled, being sure that they were fastened properly so that the movement of the vehicle would not cause the casualty any further discomfort. Then straitening up, he gently clasped the injured man on his uninjured shoulder.

"How ya doin', man?" he asked softly. The young scientist, Chris, looked no older than himself, and Virgil felt a pang of sympthy for him. From what he had gathered after having spoken with Chris, the young man was new to his job as a technician scientist. Although plucked out of his university by the manager only four months ago, he was still considered to be one of the more advanced scientists at the refinery.

Chris opened his blood-shot eyes and blinked up at Virgil, grimacing painfully. "Not so good." he admitted, his voice strained slightly. "My thigh's killin' me."

Virgil nodded in sympathy. "The shard of metal stuck in your leg has probably sliced through part of your strathscolope muscle on the outer lining of your femur - the bone in your leg. Consequently, every time you move, it caused the muscle to contract around the metal, which is why it's so painful. That's also why I've had to strap it up so tightly, so that I can limit the amount of movement that you're able to achieve.."

Chris closed his eyes, his face set in a pained frown. "Thanks." he murmured. "There were a few moments back there when I thought I was gonna bleed to death. I'm really grateful for everything you guys have done."

Virgil smiled gently and stood to his feet. "No problem, pal." he said sincerely, before turning to look at Scott, who had been pacing the rest of the equipment away.

"Scott, leave it." he called, pressing the side of his helmet so that it switched to a private channel. "I want you to take Chris and get him outta here, alright. I'll stay behind and grab the rest of the stuff. He needs to get to a hospital as soon as possible."

"F.A.B." Scott replied, returning to his hover-sled and swinging one leg over the vehicle. "I'll see him safely into an ambulance, and then we'll rendez-vous at the entrance to the building as planned, okay?"

Virgil nodded, standing back as Scott powered up the engine. "Acknowledged. Drive safe."

Scott looked over is shoulder and winked at his younger brother. "C'mon, it's me. Would I _ever_ do anything unsafe?"

"Nose-dives in Tracy One a few years ago, racing Gordon on the hover-bikes blindfolded when you were twenty, trying to cook..." Virgil reeled off, counting on his fingers. He looked up at Scott, his eyes shining in amusement. "Take your pic, I've got more."

Scott just rolled his eyes and revved the engine, before zooming off down the corridor, leaving Virgil standing in the doorway to the laboratory. With a small sigh, he stepped back into the debris-strewn room, bending down to gather up all of his medical equipment, storing it away in his med-bag. Slinging the bag over one shoulder, he went around the room collecting all the small portable lamps that John had set up, piling them up in his arms before striding back towards the door. Stepping out into the corridor once more, he dropped his load into the back compartment of his hover-sled, fastening the cover over the top and stepping back to flex his stiff arms.

_I wonder how Alan and Gordon are getting on. Perhaps they were able to locate the other missing personnel. I hope Alan's coping alright. What am I saying, of course he is! He's Alan. But still, I can't help but worry about the Sprout. He's like some sort of danger magnet; everything in his life just seems to place him in perilous situations, in which he either gets seriously injured or emotionally traumatized. Sometimes both. Like the storm when he was five, and then appendicitis when he was ten, and of course the Hood's attack on the island at Spring break. And then he nearly died at the beginning of the summer. How could I **not** worry about him? I know for a fact that the other guys do, they just - they're just better at keeping their worry hidden, that's all._

Sighing again, Virgil brushed the dirt off his gloved and let out another sigh. _Maybe I'll just call them. Just to get and updater. Perhaps I might be able to help, especially if the missing personnel are injured. Yeah, I think I'll-_

He paused in hid train of thought as a voice resounded in his helmet, speaking in a tone that made Virgil's blood run cold.

"_Thunderbird 5 to International Rescue team! Sensors detect that tectonic activity in your area is increasing at a dangerously fast rate! There is another earthquake heading your way! I repeat, there will be a second earthquake in your area in less than fifteen seconds! Follow standard procedure and do what you can to protect yourselves I repeat, there is a-"_

As Brains' voice cut off abruptly, Virgil felt the ground beneath him begin to shake. Dust particles from the gaping whole in the ceiling above him began to sprinkle down around him. Virgil swore hoarsely as the severity of the situation sunk in, and he side-stepped a metal beam as it crashed down beside him. Suddenly, the floor itself lurched violently with a loud '_crack_', and Virgil was thrown off-balance by the force of it. Stumbling forwards, he lost his footing and went crashing down on the one of the handles of his hover-sled, the strong blow knocking the wind out of him as the hard object hit the base of his breast-bone. Pain exploded in his chest and he fell to the floor heavily, landing on his side before rolling onto his back. With a low creaking sound, the ceiling directly above him began to give way, and he sat up hurriedly, trying to push himself backwards away from the falling debris.

Something sharp and heavy glanced off the side of his left arm, and he cried out breathlessly as he felt it tear into his skin. A burning sensation seemed to shoot all the way down his arm and into his fingers, and he gasped, arching his back as he clenched fists and screwed his eyes shut against the pain. He lay there, half-propped up against the side of his hover-sled, his good arm flung over his head in an attempt to protect it from falling plaster. Suddenly, a heavy object landing on his right-hand side, slamming against his ribcage and knocking the breath out of him once more.

There was an almighty '_boom_', which rose above the noise of the earthquake, echoing around in Virgil's dazed mind. _'Another canister.'_, he thought wearily, the pain in his chest, arm and side dulling his senses.

The tremors seemed to last for an eternity, the loud roar of the falling debris creating a deafening crescendo around him. Then, finally, the noise ceased, and Virgil cautiously opened his eyes. The corridor was a little darker than it had been before, as one of the lights on the hover-sled had been smashed by a falling object, but it was still light enough to see the devastation that lay around where Virgil lay. White plaster-dust hung in the air, taking the appearance of a heavy fog. Virgil was immensely grateful for his oxygen mask, as he knew that breathing in the plaster dust would have seriously affected his lungs.

But on second thoughts, the oxygen mask really wasn't of any use right now, as Virgil was finding the very act of breathing surprisingly difficult. He pushed himself a little more upright, clutching at his bruised side and bending forward slightly in an attempt to suck in more air. Thankfully, after a few moments, his breathing evened up slightly, and he was able to draw in quick, shallow breaths. As soon as the respiration problem had been overcome, Virgil sat up again to assess his condition.

_Okay, so I've bruised my side pretty badly. But - ow! - but I don't think they're broken. I can't really feel very much through the uniform, but that's about as good an examination I'm gonna get at the moment. My arm is - yow! - okay, it's not as bad as I'd feared. It's probably gonna need stitches, but it's nothing that requires immediate medical attention._

Remembering that his brother had only left a few minutes ago, and would probably still be within the building, Virgil reached over to his wrist-watch and typed in the code for Scott's frequency. "Scott? Scotty, are you alright?" he demanded, his voice sounding weak and strained as he breathed heavily. "Scott? Scooter? C'mon, man, answer me!"

Silence. That damned silence again._ Darn it, what's happened to him? Did another section of the corridor collapse? Oh God, please no. Please! Dammit!_

Trying to calm his erratic breathing patterns, he pushed himself unsteadily to his feet, gritting his teeth against the sharp throb in his arm and chest. Sitting on the seat of his hover-sled, he forced himself to think rationally._ If that loud noise was a canister exploding, then the communications will be down. Scott might be fine. I'm jumping to conclusions far too early. I - I need to just make my way towards the entrance. Perhaps I'll meet him on the way there. Perhaps he'll be fine._

Trying to ignore the nauseous feeling in his stomach, he mounted the vehicle and carefully gripped the handle, being careful not to tense up his muscles too much so that the pain in his upper-arm would not increase. Then, powering up the engine, he began to maneuver his way over the debris in the corridor, taking in in slow, steady breaths and inwardly soothing himself in an attempt to calm down. As the whine of his hover-sled echoed in the deadly silence of the unmoving corridor, Virgil swallowed down the bile that had risen in his throat from the impact caused by the section of ceiling falling onto his midriff. He needed to find his brothers. He just had to.

As Virgil drove on down the dark corridor, he sent up a desperate prayer to anyone who was willing to listen. _Please, don't take any of my family from me. Keep them safe until I can get to them. And if they happen to be injured, please give me the strength to be able to treat them. Don't let my own injuries interfere with my work. And please, give me courage. I don't want to be left alone in here._

And so he continued onwards, his body throbbing from the pain of his physical injuries, his mind reeling from the suddenness of it all. However, the most grievous hurt wasn't one that could be lessened by drugs. It was the pain in his heart - the deep ache of longing, of worry, and of the fear that he had already lost another member of his family.

* * *

**_In the next chapter, we discover how Scott and John a fairing. Will Gordon and Alan be able to reach them in time? And with communications blocked between Thunderbird 5 and the danger zone, what will Brains say to Jeff? And will Virgil truly have the strength to fight his own physical pain and save his older brothers? Find out next time!_**

**_Okay, that's a rap (at least for today). And yes,_ I know_ that this chapter didn't include all the stuff that I said it would, but that's only because it was turning out to be way_ to long. _When the word count exceeded 12500, I decided to split it up into two chapters instead. Hope none of you are too distraught. Lol. :^D_**

**_Right, I'm leaving tomorrow evening for a weekend away with my youth group, so we won't get back until Sunday evening. Consequently, I won't be able to post an update until at least Tuesday. But I'll make it worth the wait, I promise._**

**_Now PLEASE REVIEW and reassure me that you don't all hate me for hurting the Tracy boys - again. You like fluff too, right? And there's gonna be LOADS of that later on, trust me. I'm building up to some major family stuff._**

**_Have a great weekend!_**

**_xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox_**


	13. Chapter 13: Help Is On The Way

_**Greetings!**_

_**I know you're all dying to find out what's happened to Scott and John, so I'll make this brief. Just wanted to stop by and say 'thanks' for all the great reviews you sent me for the last chapter. It was good to see some new names amongst the reviewers, too. Welcome to the story! I'm glad you are enjoying it so far. And a big sorry to all those to whom I did not reply - I was a little busy. Scrap that, I was **very** busy. This is the first proper break I've had since last Thursday, to be honest.**_

**_Anyway, enough about me. Back to what you really came here for..._**

* * *

_Ouch._

Scott could think of no other word to describe his present condition. His lower leg throbbed painfully from where it had connected solidly with the dagger-like shard of metal that protruded from the pile of rubble beside him. The two middle fingers of his left hand screamed in agony, having been bent backwards and broken by the force of his full weight landing on them as he fell with his hand outstretched. And, although the earthquake had ceased to shake the building over a minute ago, his body continued to buzz as if he were lying on the power converter of Thunderbird 1 during takeoff.

At last, the random and confused thoughts seemed to chase each other out of Scott's mind, and the gravity of the situation caught up with him. Wincing, he sucked in a breath and shifted slightly in his position on the debris-strewn floor beside his hover-sled. Looking over at the vehicle, he realised that it was lying on its side. _I guess I must have been thrown off it when it tipped over. Of course, it wouldn't have tipped over if I hadn't swerved to avoid that - that - whatever it was that fell through the ceiling. Man, that earthquake must have been pretty strong. It looks like it practically tore the building apart. __I guess I got lucky this time. A little further to the left, and I would've been crushed by that beam over there._

Gritting his teeth, Scott pushed himself up on his right arm, cradling his left hand to his chest and grunting as his leg throbbed painfully. He sat up slowly, leaning back against the wall of the corridor, breathing heavily and allowing his head to fall back against the cracked plaster. Carefully rotating his left wrist so that the watch-face pointed upwards, his typed in the general frequency code and took a calming breath.

"This is Scott to team members, come in please." he called wearily, closing his eyes as his head spun. After a few moments of silence, he tried again. "This is Scott calling _all _Thunderbird personnel, please respond."

As the silence continued, Scott let out a groan. "That explosion," he murmured. "The one I heard during the earthquake, it - it must've been another canister blowing. Communications are down again. Dammit, this is a _really_ bad time to lose contact with the guys."

Glancing at the hover-sled (or what remained of it), Scott sighed in frustration. The back section had broken off, leaving wires and circuitry exposed, and the diagnostic panel on the front had been smashed to pieces by falling debris, or perhaps it had been damaged when the vehicle turned over. Whatever had happened to it, the bottom line was that Scott wouldn't be able to use that particular hover-sled any more - at least not until Brains had given it a full overhaul.

Suddenly, a faint moan broke through the silence of the corridor. Scott's head snapped up, and he pointed the beam of his wrist-light into the hazy gloom, tapping the side of his helmet with his left thumb so as not to cause more pain in the three middle fingers.

"Chris?" he called, remembering the injured scientist for the first time since the earthquake. "Is that you? Are you okay?"

"Y-yeah!" came the shaky reply, muffled by the oxygen mask that Scott had given him earlier. "I'm okay. Nothing landed on me, thank God. Are - are you alright, sir?"

"Never felt better!" Scott lied, keeping his voice light and reassuring. "Nothing hit me, either. Now, just sit tight. I'm gonna come over to you. I think the back section of my vehicle was broken off when it overturned, so I'm gonna need to to tell me when I'm close, okay?"

"Okay!" Chris croaked back.

Scott pushed himself achingly to his feet, ignoring the tearing sensation in his shin and calf muscle. Step by painful step, he hobbled over the layers of plaster and metal, following Chris' instructions as the scientist directed him closer and closer to the back section of the hover-sled. At last, after what seemed like an hour, but was probably only a matter of a few minutes, the glow of Scott's flashlight landed upon the cargo-sled and stretcher. It lay innocently in the centre of the corridor, surrounded by lumps of crumbled concrete and - and what appeared to be several dented filing cabinets. Dropping carefully to his knees beside the stretcher, Scott swallowed a yelp of pain as his injured leg protested the movement, focusing his attention on the casualty before him.

"Hey man," he greeted softly. "Looks like you and I must both have guardian angels watching over us. A few more inches to the left, and you would've been crushed by that cabinet over there."

Chris followed his line of sight, wincing slightly, and let out a hoarse chuckle. "That - that's one of the cabinets from the main office up on the third floor." he stated. "How the heck did it get down here?"

Scott looked upwards slowly, and pointed at the gaping hole in the ceiling above them. Chris blinked through the dust and gloom, and his eyes widened. "Ah." he remarked flatly. "I see."

Scott shifted slightly, hissing in pain and trying his best not to swear his head off at the sharp twinge in his calf muscle. Taking another deep breath, he shine his wrist-light away from Chris and into the darkness if the corridor.

"Chris," he began slowly, bracing himself against a lump of rubble and pushing himself to his feet. "I'm not able to contact my colleagues at the moment, which means that I won't be able to bring help to us unless I go off and find them for myself. Now, if I remember correctly, we were only about twenty metres or so away from the main entrance before the 'quake hit us. With any luck, I'll be able to see one of my team members outside the complex."

"If the entrance is still standing." Chris murmured. "Which will be a miracle in itself."

"What d'you mean?" Scott asked softly, dropping the beam back down to a spot just beside the stretcher, illuminating the scientist's dirt-streaked face.

Christ shifted uncomfortably and let out a sigh. "The alcove just behind the main doors was badly damaged in a fire a few months ago." he explained. "Although it was all re-plastered and repainted, the site manager said that it was structurally unstable. We've all bee using the back entrance since then. That section of the main corridor was scheduled to be torn down and rebuilt sometime next week, I think. Didn't anybody tell you?"

Scott shook his head. "No, we weren't informed of any physical problems that existed _before_ the earthquake. I mean, we suspected that some degree of damage had been done to the internal structure, but we assumed that the entrance would be structurally sound. It seemed fine when we entered the building."

Chris nodded. "The doors are pretty tough, they probably helped to keep it up. The polysacharite steel it about three times the strength of most of the support beams in this place. Don't ask me why, though. It doesn't really make sense to me. If you want my opinion, I think the architect who designed the structure of this place did a pretty lousy job. But anyway," he concluded, wincing as he shifted slightly on the stretcher. "As long as those doors remain intact, the entrance should be okay, I think."

"Ah, well you see," Scott began, remembering his rather impatient entrance earlier that evening. "The doors are kinda - history."

Chris looked at him quizzically, and Scott shrugged. "They wouldn't open." he explained. "You and the other guys were trapped inside, and I wanted to get you out as quickly as possible. So I cut through the hinges on the doors and knocked'em both in."

"Oh." the scientist remarked. "Well, that might change things. Without the extra support, Im not sure that the entrance would've survived the last earthquake."

Scott nodded in agreement, a strange feeling creeping into his lower gut. _Why does that make me feel nervous? What's so significant about the instability of the front entrance? I mean, it's not like the guys can't use the back entrance. But still, I have this - this feeling - that I've forgotten something important._

"Chris, I'm gonna go and take a look at the entrance, alright?" he stated, leaning over the stretcher once more. "I won't be gone for long. If you need me for anything, just yell. Will you be okay?

The other man nodded again. "Good luck."

Pushing himself fully upright, Scott did his best to hide his hobble as he made his way around the fallen cabinets, being careful to avoid breaking his ankle on the debris-littered ground. He stumbled on down the corridor, his feet crunching on the small lumps of plaster and concrete that lay scattered across the floor. As he walked, he tried to pinpoint what it was about the main entrance that was bothering him so much. He had a horrible feeling that it was something important, but his mind was still reeling from the suddenness of it all, and he just couldn't think straight.

_Dammit, Scott, get a hold of yourself. You're a Tracy, and the field commander of International Rescue. Just focus on the task at hand. I need to keep my cool here, it's my duty. Now, think. Why is the darn entrance so important? Did I leave one of the vehicles there or something?_

Then, like a punch in the gut, it came to him. Freezing to the spot, Scott felt his blood run cold and his head begin to spin. Swearing hoarsely, he quickened his pace and broke into an unsteady jog, ignoring the pain that shot through his leg every time his foot hit the ground. Rounding a corner, he came to a halt once more. As the beam of his wrist-light fell upon a mound of rubble where the entrance had once stood, he sucked in a shocked breath.

There, with his arm pinned beneath the rubble, lay John.

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Jeff paced his office nervously, his heart beating loudly within his chest as horrific images flashed before his mind's eye. Brains had contacted him only minutes earlier with the news that another earthquake had hit Callingiri, and now - and now his boys weren't answering their calls. Frowning, Jeff tried to convince himself that there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for this; one that didn't involve the prospect of one of his sons being injured.

_They were out of contact with each other earlier this evening. This is no different. Brains mentioned that, had the magnetic field been any stronger, the radio waves from Thunderbird 5 would've been blocked, too. So perhaps - perhaps one of the larger reactors blew. That would explain the loss of contact. So the boys are fine. They're absolutely fine._

"Jeff."

_But scans indicate that three of them were located within the main complex before the earthquake hit. What if the building collapsed? Earthquakes are so rare in that area, the complex wasn't designed to withstand earth tremors of this magnitude. Those scientists were sitting ducks! And my boys were there, right alongside them. Oh God, please keep them safe. I know that what we do is dangerous, but I couldn't bear it if I lost one of them._

"Jeff!"

A hand clamped down on the Tracy patriarch's shoulder, and he jumped slightly, startled. Turning around, he was greeted by a pair of calm, green eyes. Thomas looked at him steadily, his brow creasing in concern.

"Are you alright?" the doctor asked quietly, keeping his voice down so as not to be heard by Fermat and Tin-Tin, who sat at a console on the far side of the room. Jeff nodded his head slowly, and Thomas gave him a reassuring smile. "They'll be fine, Jeff." he said, calmly. "They've been in stickier situations than this, and come out completely unscathed. This is just a technical glitch. They're all alive, Jeff."

Jeff swallowed painfully, his eyes drifting over to the main monitor that sat facing the portraits. He glanced over at the large photographs of his five children that lines the wall, smiling slightly at Alan's idiotic grin. He could still remember the day, almost a week after the Hood's attack, when they had started up International Rescue once again. John had been allowed a little more freedom, thanks to the speed in which his body had healed, and had taken it upon himself to photograph Alan for his portrait. The only problem being that the rest of the siblings had demanded to be present for the photo-shoot, and Alan hadn't been able to keep from grinning at his brothers' antics. But, as a family, they had decided that Alan's portrait wouldn't look right if the teenager was wearing a serious expression, and so Jeff had been the one to make the final choice. He had chosen his favourite; the one in which Alan's cheeky smile seemed to light up his blue eyes and illuminate his youth. It had soothed Jeff's heart to look at it then, and it soothed him now.

"Yes," he murmured softly. "They're alive. I would've felt it otherwise."

Thomas didn't question what this meant, much to Jeff's relief. To be completely honest, he didn't have a clue what it meant, either. He just knew - deep down in his heart, he knew - that his boys were alright. _Listen to me, I sound psychotic. I must be losing it. But I have five sons, it's a miracle that I've held onto my sanity for as long as I have. But still, I'd give up my sanity any day just to have the boys safe and well, and back at home. Oh Lucy, look after our babies. Stay with them, and watch over them as you have always done. Keep them safe._

Letting out a long sigh, he rubbed a hand across his face and strode back over towards his seat in the command chair. Except, standing with one hand on the back of the leather headrest, he could not bring himself to sit down. _I can't just do nothing whilst the boys struggle out there, perhaps fighting for their lives! I have to do something! _Turning back around, he began pacing once more.

Fermat, who had been watching the older Tracy for a few minutes now, nudged Tin-Tin with his elbow, nodding in Jeff's direction when the Malaysian girl turned to look at him.

"I'm gonna go get Mr. Tracy a cup of c-coffee." the bespectacled teenager whispered, his keen eyes noticing the stressed facial expression that the older man wore. "It might help to calm him down. You stay here and t-t- rest your ankle, okay?"

Tin-Tin smiled at him, but her face fell slightly as she glanced back at Jeff. "Fermat," she began, hesitating slightly. "What if they're not okay? What if they were _all_ injured in the earthquake?"

Fermat swallowed and looked down, trying to think of a way in which to answer his friend's question. However, another voice answered for him.

"If, for some reason, all the guys were injured on a mission, it'd be up to us to rescue them." Thomas said quietly, putting a hand on each of their shoulders and crouching down between them. "There's you two, myself, Jeff, Lady Penelope and Parker, plus a whole bunch of agents who are on standby from the moment a rescue call is accepted. We have agents in NASA, WASP, the Air Force, the FBI, the ISS - the list goes on and on. If anything has happened to the guys, we can get help to them with a mere click of a button."

Fermat and Tin-Tin both blinked in surprise. "Really?" they asked in unison. Thomas smiled and nodded.

"Really." he confirmed. "Although, that wasn't quite the case earlier this year. Before Spring Break, there weren't as many backup plans laid down. But after the attack, when we realised that there was nobody to 'rescue the rescuers', we contacted a few of the organisations who owed us favours. And, since we happen to have a number of close friends within said organisations, we found that creating strong links between them was a lot easier than we had first anticipated. Jeff spent the best part of the school term after Spring break speaking with various admirals and captains. Together, they invented a whole system of emergency plans that we could use in really dire situations. So there's nothing to worry about, alright?"

Fermat smiled and nodded, noting that Tin-Tin was doing the same. Then he paused, frowning slightly. "Then w-why is Mr. Tracy so stressed out?" he asked, almost to himself. Thomas laughed and reached out to ruffle his hair.

"That's what fathers do, Fermat." he smiled. "They can't help it. And trust me, in comparison with how he used to be, Jeff isn't stressed at all. One time - way back when most of the boys were still less than a metre tall - Scott crashed his bike into a tree. You should've seen how bad Jeff panicked over him then. I was staying over at their house in between my shifts on the space station, so luckily I was able to calm him down. But still, considering how stressed Jeff _can_ be, I think he's doin' pretty well at the moment."

Nodding in agreement, the two teenagers relaxed slightly. Then, standing to his feet, Fermat sighed and glanced sadly at the silent communications panel.

"I'll go and get Mr. Tracy a coffee." he said quietly, looking up at Thomas. "D'you want one, Tom?"

Thomas smiled. "Sure thing. Thanks, Fermat."

As the young genius swiftly left the room, Thomas took his vacated seat and frowned slightly. "Tin-Tin?" he asked quietly, after a short pause. "Is Fermat feeling alright? He's not too stressed-out over this mission, is he?"

The girl looked surprised by the question. "Fermat?" she repeated. "Um - no. I mean, he's worried about Alan and the other guys, of course, but I _think_ he's coping. Why, is something wrong?"

Thomas paused, running a hand through his chocolate-brown hair thoughtfully. "He didn't call me 'Dr. Palmar'." he said finally. Tin-Tin's left eyebrow shot up, and she looked at him incredulously.

"But - but you're forever telling him _not_ to call you Dr. Palmar." she said hesitantly, reaching up to brush a stray lock of hair away from her eyes, tucking it behind her ear.

Thomas nodded. "Exactly."

Tin-Tin frowned in confusion. "Sorry," she murmured. "You've lost me."

Leaning his elbow on the panel, Thomas shrugged. "Never mind, ignore me. I'm thinking out loud again."

Suddenly, a beeping sound could be heard from the other side of the room, emanating from the main comm-panel. On the control board, the comm-light was flashing yellow, signalling an incoming message from Thunderbird 5. Jeff darted from his position beside the window with the speed and agility of a man half his age, practically throwing himself into the command chair. Reaching out, he pressed the switch on the underside of the monitor to accept the call, trying to control his racing heart as he did so.

"Brains, what've you got?" he asked immediately, relieved to hear that his voice belied the fear in his heart. On the screen, his bespectacled friend smiled softly, and Jeff felt a little of the stress ebb away. _He's got good news. That's definitely his 'good news' face. Everything's okay._

"I think I've managed to find a way to, uh, p-penetrate the magnetic field, Mr. Tracy." Brains stated, pushing his glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose. "If I keep ch-ch-modulating the frequency of the radio waves that I use, I might have more success when I, uh, try to contact them."

"Thanks, Brains." Jeff said sincerely, grateful that they'd made at least a little progress. "Do you know if the same method will work with the energy scanners?"

Brains nodded. "I'm scanning the d-d-rescue zone as we speak. I should have a full reading any moment now."

Jeff held his breath as he watched the scientist glance down at the monitors, his skilled fingers flying overt the many buttons and switches as he worked quickly to analyse the results. _Please God, give me some good news. I can't take much more of this silence._

At last, after what seemed to Jeff like hours, the scientist looked up from the control panel and smiled at him. "Good news, Mr. Tracy." he stated. "I'm reading five cl-cl-cl-distinct signals coming from within the danger zone. I'm going to try contacting them as soon as I've f-f- re-modulated the, uh, primary transmitter."

Jeff let out his breath in a long, relieved sigh. "Thank God." he whispered, running a hand through his hair and taking in another calming lungful of oxygen. "Good work, Brains. You're a genius."

Thomas snorted from his position behind Jeff's chair. "Yeah, he _knows_ that, Jeff. Don't ya, Brains?"

On the screen, Brains grinned and rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say, Dr. Palmar."

Thomas groaned dramatically. "Don't call me-" he began, only to stop abruptly as the screen went blank. Jeff chuckled, switching off his own monitor, his heart feeling a good deal lighter than it had been before. He glanced up at Thomas, who stood beside him, and grinned. Thomas was frowning at the empty screen, the beginnings of a pout forming on his lips.

"He did it again, didn't he?" he asked. Jeff smirked.

"Yup." he replied, nodding his head once and leaning back in his chair.

Thomas' frown deepened. "He always does that. I _hate_ it when he does that. And he _knows_ that I hate it when he does that."

Jeff grinned, standing up and moving back over to the window. "Of course he does." he said calmly, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms. "Why else would he do it? He has to amuse himself in some way, stuck up there on that rusty old tin can, all on his own. In fact, that's just what I'd do if I were in his position."

Thomas pretended to look hurt, putting a hand to his chest and opening his mouth in mock-horror. "But - but Jeff, I thought you _liked_ me?!"

Jeff grinned, shaking his head. "Nah, I just liked your car when we first met. Plus having you as a friend meant free medical care for all the boys whilst they were growing up. Without you round at our house every summer, it would've cost me a bomb with the amount of hospital trips they would've needed. But with you living with us, I must've saved a small fortune."

Thomas' pout finally formed, and he sat down in the command chair, crossing his arms and looking away. "That's it, I'm not talking to you any more. And when John gets back, I'm telling him what you said about Thunderbird 5. What was it again? Ah yes, a 'rusty old tin can', wasn't it?"

Jeff smiled softly, but the smile did not reach his eyes. To be honest, Jeff didn't mind what Thomas said to John. He just wanted to see his son again. He wanted to see all of them. _Man, it's missions like this that leave me wondering whether or not I made the right decision when I thought up the idea of International Rescue, all those years ago. If I ever lost any one of my boys, I - we, as a family - would never be the same again. So why do I do it, Lucy? Why do I send them out every time, when there's a danger that I might never see them again?_

Jeff shook his head. He had lost count of the number of times that he had argued this point with himself during rescue missions. During _every_rescue mission, to be exact. And yet, whenever he brought up the subject with one of his sons, he received the same answers. '_It's our choice to be a part of the team, Dad'_ or '_We know the risks, but we still want to save lives'_. Jeff didn't know why he had been blessed with such stubbornly determined sons; but he had. And for that he would be forever grateful. His only wish, however, was that from time to time, they would all be a little _less_ stubborn.

But, Jeff mused, they were Tracy's. Stubbornness was built into their DNA.

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"John!"

Scott ran - or, to be more precise, staggered - over to his brother, dropping down onto he ground beside John's head. His own leg screamed in pain, but this time he ignored it. He was too bust yanking off his right glove with his teeth to notice anything so trivial. With numb fingers, he fumbled at John's wrist for a pulse, cold sweat breaking out all over his body as he held his breath and waited. When he felt the steady rhythm beneath his fingertips, he could have cried in relief. But he didn't - he had a job to do. Taking a deep breath, he calmed himself and forced his mind to act more professionally.

"John?" he called, shaking his brother by the shoulder gently. "John, can you hear me? Open your eyes for me, bro."

When there was no reply, Scott bent closer, peering into John's face through the gloom. It was then that he noticed that the tinted visor was no longer covering his brother's face, but had been completely shattered. Small pieces of fibreglass lay scattered all over the floor, crunching under Scott's knees as he shifted closer to his younger sibling's body in order to inspect the wound on John's forehead. Just where the visor was supposed to meet the helmet, there was a giant egg-shaped lump. A long cut ran across it, dribbling blood down the side of John's face and trickling into his hair. Cursing himself for not having brought a med-kit with him, Scott reached over to unclasp the fastening on the underside of John's helmet, releasing the lock. With a hiss, the helmet expanded slightly, and Scott gently pulled it off John's head, being careful not to tug too hard so that he wouldn't damage his brother's neck.

"It's okay, Johnny." he said to the unconscious body. "I'm gonna get you outta here. Just stay with me, alright?"

The lack of response was doing nothing to soothe Scott's nerves. With a worried frown, he ran his right hand through John's ruffled hair, some of the blood rubbing off onto his fingers in the process. He took another look at the deep cut, his worry increasing as he noticed how heavily it was bleeding. "Dammit, John, why do you always listen to me?" he murmured softly. "Why couldn't you have been a smart-ass and done your own thing, instead of standing at the entrance like we'd agreed? It doesn't pay to be so perfect all the time, you know."

Brushing a few specks of glass from his brothers face, Scott ran his fingers over the small scratches that marred the pale skin of John's cheeks. Glancing at the arm that lay beneath the rubble, he winced. "Listen, Johnny, I have to go back to the hover-sled and grab a med-kit and the cutters." he told his brother, knowing that there was still a slight chance that John could hear him. "So you sit tight, okay? Don't go running off, d'you understand? That's an order."

Squeezing the unconscious man's shoulder, he stood dizzily to his feet, pushing himself up off the floor with his good hand. Frowning, he paused, rubbing his fingers together slowly. They felt - wet. The lights on his helmet illuminated his hand as he lifted it to his face, causing the scarlet liquid to glisten. His heart skipped a beat, and he immediately looked downwards, directing the beam of his wrist-light towards his brother's body. A tiny pool of dark red liquid had collected beside John's hip, and smudges of the same liquid had been smeared over some of the debris in the surrounding area. All of the debris that Scott had touched. Looking behind him, and shining his light back down the corridor, he noticed that small scarlet drops stood out starkly against the whiteness of the plaster, leading back down the corridor. It was then that Scott realised that the pool of blood had not come from John's body, but from his own.

Shining his flashlight down at his left leg, he grimaced. The white material of the uniform had been soaked a dark red, and was ripped from just below the knee all the way down to the back of his ankle. Scott grimaced as he looked at it, knowing that it would require stitches once they returned to Tracy Island. _Well, at least I'm alive. That's a bonus. I can live with a few stithes. I'll even allow Virge to fuss over me, as long as I can get John outta here as soon s possible._

Suddenly, Scott heard a noise in the distance. It seemed to be growing louder every second, and Scott's eyes widened as he recognised the low whining of a very familiar vehicle. _That's a hover-sled! One of the guys must be coming up the corridor! Wait a minute - it's gotta be Virge. He was still in the laboratory when the earthquake hit. How could I have forgotten? At least he's okay. Hang on, maybe he's close enough for our communicators to work..._

Raising his left arm, Scot typed in the code for Virgil private comm-channel and took a deep breath, leaning against the wall of the corridor so that he didn't lose balance. However, just as he was about to speak, the whining noise came to a sudden stop. Frowning, Scott wondered what was wrong, and decided it was high time he made contact.

"Scott to Virgil, come in please." he called.

"Scott?" Virgil's voice sounded through the speaker in his helmet, and Scott allowed a relieved smile to blossom over his face.

"The one and only." he murmured, suddenly feeling exhausted.

"Are you alright?" Virgil demanded worriedly. "Where are you? I'm next to your hover-sled, but there's no sign of you other than - dammit, Scott, you're hurt!"

Scott grimaced, realising that he had probably bled all over the place as he staggered away from his vehicle. "I'm fine, Virge." he stated. "It's just a scratch."

"Don't give me that." Virgil said firmly, and Scott could hear the strain in his voice. "A 'scratch' doesn't bleed this much. Where are you? I need to come and stop the bleeding."

Scott closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, before pushing himself away from the wall and hopping painfully back over to where his younger brother lay unconscious on the floor. "Virgil, I'm at the main entrance." he said, forcing himself to calm down and act professionally. "The damn thing's collapsed in on itself, and it's gone and injured John in the process. He's unconscious. His arm's still trapped underneath the rubble, so I'm probably gonna need the cutting gear to get him outta here."

Virgil's voice filtered through his helmet once more, lined with determination. "I've already got one set of cutting gear in the back of my hover-sled. I'll be there in a moment."

As the low whine started up again, even louder this time, Scott allowed his attention to drift back to the injured astronaut who lay before him. Reaching out with his gloved left hand, he automatically ran his fingers through John's hair, before hissing in pain and withdrawing the hand to his chest. Cursing himself for forgetting about his broken fingers, he extended his right hand instead, brushing the fingertips over John's forehead.

"Don't worry, buddy." he said softly. "We'll have you outta here and back at home before you know it. Just hang on."

Glancing back up the corridor, Scott waited impatiently as the seconds dragged by, mentally urging Virgil to drive faster. However, after a few moments, the bright lights of the hover-sled appeared around the corner, blasting their yellow glow into the darkness. Scott squinted against the light, his heartbeat slowing down as he saw a familiar uniformed figure dismount the vehicle. Letting out a sigh of relief, Scott sent up a prayer of thanks.

Help had finally arrived.

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Alan gritted his teeth, pressing down on the booster-pedal with all his might, the engine of his hover-sled groaning and choking from the effort. Yet it would not budge. Slamming on the brakes, Alan hit the diagnostic panel in frustration, slumping against the handle-bars.

"Gordon," he called, knowing that their private channel was still open. "This isn't gonna work. That support beam just won't budge. If I try any harder, I'll fry the engine of my 'sled."

"Understood." came the reply. "Don't worry, Sprout, we're gonna get them outta there. I've contacted the local rescue teams, and it seems that they all managed to make it out in one piece. Greg Peterson, the site manager we spoke to earlier, is sending in a team to help us move this debris. They'll be here any minute now."

Alan nodded, swinging his leg over the side of the hover-sled and standing up. He could see Gordon a few metres away, bent over a portable communicator. Frowning, Alan began to walk towards his brother.

"What are you doing, Gords?" he asked. Gordon looked up at him as he approached, before turning his attention back to the communicator.

"I've been trying to patch a signal through to base." he explained. "But it's not working. I think the magnetic field is more powerful this time. You know the canister that blew? Well, accorsding to Greg, that canister is the second largest one on the site. In fact, the only one that's bigger is the main reactor itself. And trust me, we do _not_ want that thing to blow."

Alan nodded numbly, glancing back over the the collapsed main entrance. "I'm gonna attempt to contact the guys again. We haven't tried for a while now."

"F.A.B." Gordon replied, reaching down and picking up the communicator. He peered over Alan's shoulder as he stood to his feet, his body relaxing slightly. "Looks like the rescue team has arrived. I'm gonna go brief them on the situation. Will you be alright on your own?"

Alan nodded again, for once not caring that Gordon was treating him like a kid. He watched as Gordon tapped the side of his helmet to cut the comm-line, before jogging away towards the local rescuers. Alan let out a long, shaky sigh. He felt sick. He'd rescued people before, and had even experienced that horrible feeling of disappointment and guilt upon seeing a victim who hadn't made it. But never - never - had he been forced to dig his own brothers out of a collapsed building.

Shaking his head, Alan mentally scolded himself. _Don't be so pessimistic. The building hasn't completely collapsed, only the front entrance. The guys could be fine. Maybe John moved away in time; maybe he wasn't standing in the doorway when the earthquake hit. And Scott and Virge - well, they were in a different part of the building. Maybe they managed to avoid getting injured, and perhaps they've been able to reach John._

Coming to a halt in front of the mound of debris, Alan raised his left arm and typed in the code for Scott's private comm-channel.

"Alan to Scott, please come in." he called, knowing that it was probably in vain. With communications still down, the chances of Scott being close enough to receive his transmission were very slim indeed.

Perhaps that was why Alan nearly jumped out of his skin when his brother's surprised voice sounded through the speaker in his helmet.

"Sprout?!"

_TBC..._

* * *

**_Will things improve now that Alan has managed to make contact with his brothers? Will the local rescue teams be able to help to free the trapped Tracy-boys? Will John regain consciousness? And will 'Virge the Surge' be able to take care of his brothers, despite his own injuries? And what about Brains? Will he be successful in modulating the radio frequencies? Find out next time!_**

**_Yes, no horrible cliffie this time. I decided that you guys deserved a break, especially considering how patiently you've been waiting for this update. Now, because of my ultra-hectic lifestyle, I probably won't be able to post the next chapter until the weekend, although I will try before then. My fist two dance shows are on this Saturday, both in the afternoon and the evening, so I'm gonna be kinda rushed over the next week. But I honestly will do my best to squeeze in another chapter before Sunday. Keep an eye out for me!_**

**_PLEASE REVIEW and tell me what you thought of it. Also, it has not been beta-read, coz my brother is too busy at work this week. I have checked and double-checked it, but I know that I've probably made a mistake somewhere. So, if you spot any typos (I'm counting on you, CC!), please point them out to me. Cheers!_**

**_Laters! _**

**_xoxoxoxoxox_**


	14. Chapter 14: Problems and Pain Meds

**_Hey guys!_**

**_Yes, I'm here with the next chapter, and it's out earlier than I first expected. I arrived back from my evening dance show a little while ago (so it's about 11:55pm here in the UK). I thought I'd stop by and do some tweaking to this chapter, and was pleasantly surprised when I managed to get it finished. I guess I just love you guys too much, huh?_**

**_Both the morning and the evening shows went wonderfully, with hardly a hiccup. At one point, something went wrong with the lighting, and we ended up dancing in darkness for about twenty seconds. But luckily, it wasn't a crucial moment, so it wasn't a major problem. I am still a happy and energetic 'personage' (my new word of the week), so I decided to be nice to you all and update! I hope it helps to cheer you up a bit. (Although, with the present plot-line, maybe it'll just depress you instead? Hmm, I never really took that into consideration when I wrote this fic. Ah well, you can at least 'pretend' that you're happy, right? Lol.)_**

**_Thanks for all your lovely reviews, and it was especially nice to see a couple more new faces amongst the reviewers. Hey there, and welcome to the story! And yet again, big apologies for not being able to reply to everybody's messages. You know the story, life's just a little bit hectic at the moment. And to everyone else, thanks for being so wonderfully patient, I understand how annoying it can be sometimes to wait for an update (as I have discovered after getting hooked on a number of your stories - CC, Lissysue85, I-like-chickens, Letting The Rain In, Sam1....the list goes on). So hopefully, with this update, I will encourage all of you to update too, right? Awesome._**

**_So - kick back, relax, and enjoy!........_**

* * *

Virgil slammed on the brakes of his hover-sled as the light shone upon the uniformed figures of his two older brothers. Tapping the side of his head to switch on his microphone, he swung his leg up and over the back of the vehicle, gasping as pain flared in the right-hand side of his chest.

"Scott!" he called, trying to keep his voice steady as he slid open the back compartment of his 'sled and pulled out the med-bag. A few metres away, Scott reached up with his right hand and tapped the side of his helmet, just as Virgil had done, switching on the microphone.

"Virgil, thank God!" Scott exclaimed, his body relaxing slightly. Still using his right hand, he frantically beckoned Virgil over to his position. As quickly as he could, and trying not to overstretch the muscles in his side, Virgil made his way over the plaster and rubble to where the entrance had once stood.

The moment he arrived at Scott's side, the older Tracy reached up and tugged gently on Virgil's wrist. The medic dropped to his knees, grimacing as the vibrations ran through his body and pounded at his bruised ribs, but grateful that he no longer had to walk. Pushing the med-bag off his shoulder, he put his hands on Scott's upper-arms, his eyes already searching for any visible injuries - other than the giant gash on Scott's leg, of course. A second later, Scott had also rested his uninjured hand upon Virgil's right shoulder, his cobalt-blue eyes staring worriedly into the honey-burnt orbs of his younger brother.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his eyes flickering over Virgil's body. They narrowed slightly as Scott caught sight of the ripped uniform material on Virgil's left arm. "Virge, what happened? Are you hurt?"

Virgil shook his head, despite the constant throbbing pain that ran from his upper-arm to his fingertips. "I'm fine." he stated. "Something caught me as it dropped from the ceiling, but it's only a graze. Nothing to worry about."

Scott didn't seem ready to believe him, but Virgil had already moved on.

"Did you hit your head?" he asked, staring at Scott's visor intently. Scott suddenly became aware of the thin crack that ran down the right-hand side of the fibre-glass, branching off like a river and extending over to the left-hand side of his jaw.

Scott shook his head. "No, I don't know _where_ I got that from." he stated. "But my head's fine, I promise. Take care of John, he's a lot worse off than me."

Extracting his hands from Scott's shoulders, Virgil pulled off both his uniform gloves and opened up his med-bag, rummaging around for a pair of surgical gloves. Finding the desired items, he had them donned in a matter of seconds, and was now leaning over John's body in order to inspect the wound on the blond's forehead.

"D'you know how long he's been out?" Virgil asked softly, his fingers gently probing the bump and feeling for any irregularities. _Please don't let this be a compression fracture. Being trapped in here with a head injury that serious would **not **be good. Dammit, Johnny, why d'you always end up being the one to sustain the major head injuries? I hate seeing you like this._

"I don't know, Virge." Scott replied regretfully, wincing as he shifted slightly. "I guess he must've been knocked out during the earthquake, but I can't be completely sure."

Virgil nodded, pressing a gauze pad against the wound and carefully adjustung John's oxygen mask. "How much oxygen does he have left?" he inquired, reaching into his bag for the portable pressure scanner that Brains had recently perfected.

Scott inched forwards slightly, his brow creasing in pain as his leg scraped along the lumps of plaster on the floor. Then he paused, frowning as he realised that the oxygen gage was on John's right wrist - on the arm that lay beneath the rubble.

"I can't get to his wrist, Virge." Scott sighed, putting a hand to the front of his helmet in frustration. "We've gotta get his arm out from under all _that_ first."

"I know." Virgil replied quietly, his attention focused in the readings appearing on the tiny screen of the hand-held scanner. The device whirred and beeped periodically, and Virgil's worried frown softened slightly.

"What?" Scott asked, leaning over Virgil's shoulder in an attempt to draw his own conclusion from the results.

Virgil switched off the scanner and dropped it back into his med-bag, moving his hand back down to John's neck and pushing his fingers beneath the collar of the material to feel for a pulse. The strong and steady rhythm that beat against his fingertips came as a great relief, and he pulled his hand away again, satisfied that John appeared to be in a stable condition. Now all that remained to assess was John's right arm. Twisting around with the intention of moving closer to the affected limb, Virgil froze, hissing through his teeth as a sharp twinge of pain shot up from his right side and into the centre of his chest.

"Virge?"

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and realised that he was breathing heavily once again, the weight on his chest seeming to increase tenfold. "I'm fine." he lied, forcing his breathing patterns to return to normal. "I've just got one heck of a bruise. It was a twinge, that's all."

Scott looked at him through the tinted visor, his eyes shining with concern. "You sure?" he asked softly. "It looked like more than 'just a twinge' to me."

Virgil smiled behind his mask, despite the pain in his side. "Really, Scotty, I'm fine." he stated. "Let me worry about you and John, alright?"

Shuffling closer to where half only half of John's upper-arm was exposed - the rest being trapped beneath the debris - Virgil began to carefully squeeze the limb, pressing down on the flesh beneath the uniform. He could feel Scott's worried gaze practically boring through the back of his skull, but he chose to ignore it. He had more important things to deal with right now. After all, John wasn't the only one who was injured. Scott's leg still needed checking over, and Virgil wasn't happy with the amount of blood his older sibling appeared to have lost. But, knowing Scott as Virgil did, he knew that the eldest Tracy-son would not cooperate with Virgil's medical examinations until John had been checked over thoroughly. That was just his way. And, although it annoyed Virgil to no end, the young medic could understand why Scott acted in that way. And, to be completely honest, if Virgil were in his position, he probably would have done the same thing. It was just part of his genetic makeup.

"How is he?" Scott asked suddenly, breaking into Virgil's thoughts. Virgil glanced over at him, before turning back towards John.

"I don't think it's anywhere near as bad as it could have been, actually." he stated. "Although the limb is trapped, there's no distension or excess fluid in the upper-arm. As far as I can tell, there hasn't been a great amount of pressure put on the rest arm from the weight of the debris. My guess is that it's trapped between two separated layers. With any luck, the injuries may only be superficial."

Scott let out a sigh of relief. "Thank God." he murmured, leaning wearily against a large block of concrete. Tilting his head to the side, he eyes the pile of debris critically. "D'you think it's be safe to cut through all that?" he inquired.

Virgil glanced up at the pile, before slowly shaking his head. "Not unless you want it to come down on top of us." he replied calmly. "No, the safest thing to do would be to stick a few copper-alanine blocks in the gaps between the debris and allow them to expand. That should give us enough room to just pull John's arm out."

Scott shot a worried glance at his younger sibling. "Won't that damage his arm?"

"Look, the longer we leave it trapped under there, the greater the risk that the debris will move slightly and end up cutting off his circulation." Virgil explained, moving painfully to his feet, and trying not to gasp as his side flared again. "If his arm is already injured, then yes, moving it may cause further damage. But it won't be as bad as what will happen if the pile suddenly shifts. Trust me, Scott, this is the best way."

Scott nodded, watching as Virgil made his way awkwardly over the debris-strewn ground towards the hover-sled. "You have a point." he sighed, as Virgil bent over the vehicle to retrieve the blocks. "But it would have been easier for all of us if we had just-"

_"Alan to Scott, please come in."_

Scott's eyes widened in surprise as his of his baby brother's voice filtered through the speaker in his helmet. For a split second, he was unable to form coherent speech, his mind still not quite comprehending the fact that Alan had just made contact with them. Then he recovered his senses, reaching up to tap the side of his helmet and taking in a quick gasp of a breath.

"Sprout?" he blurted out, noting the surprised tone of his voice as he did so. Over near the hover-sled, Virgil's head shot up, and he nearly dropped the metallic contraptions that he held in his hands.

"Scott?" Alan's voice called back, sounding equally as surprised. "You heard me! I've been trying to contact you for ages! What happened? Where are you? Are you hurt? Is John there with you? Are you-"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." Scott soothed, holding up a calming hand merely out of habit. It was a useless gesture, since Alan couldn't see him, but it had come as an automatic response to Alan's distress. "Slow down, Alan. Relax, we're all alive. John's unconscious, but he's stable. He took a nasty knock to the head when the entrance fell in on him. He'll be out of it for a little while, but he'll be fine once we get him back home. Right, Virge?"

"Right." Virgil confirmed, pressing the side of his helmet and dropping down beside Scott again with a soft grunt of pain.

"Virge?" Alan repeated. "You're there, too? Hang on, where is 'there'? Where _are_ you guys?"

"Just behind what _used _to be the entrance to the science building." Scott informed him, as Virgil picked up the first metallic rectangular block and slotted it into a gap in the pile of debris, right next to the spot where John's arm disappeared underneath the dusty rubble.

Over the comm-line, Alan let out a weak chuckle. "Well that's an unfortunate coincidence," he said lightly. "I'm probably less than six feet away from you guys. I'm standing on the _outside _of what used to be the entrance. If it weren't for the big mound of debris, we'd be able to see each other."

"Alan, are you alright? You weren't standing there when it collapsed, were you?" Virgil demanded, having placed the last of the copper-alanine blocks within the mound of debris. Scott smiled slightly. It was obvious that Virgil had slipped into full 'Virge the Surge' mode. But still, he had a right to do so. And in all honesty, Scott was equally as worried about his youngest sibling.

"I'm fine, Virge." Alan replied. "Honest. Nothing worse than a few scrapes and bruises. I was no where near the entrance when the earthquake hit. What about you two, are you injured?"

Virgil handed Scott the remote that controlled the expansion rate of the blocks, and moved to take a firm grip on John's upper-arm. "It looks like Scott's sliced his leg up pretty bad, but as long as I can stop the bleeding, he'll be okay."

"And what about you?" Alan pressed. "You hurt at all?"

Virgil tried to give Alan a reassuring and light-hearted laugh, but the muscles in his chest and side protested fiercely, so he settled for lightening his voice a little. "You know me," he said casually, hoping that the lie wasn't _too_ obvious. "I always manage to avoid injury. But what about Gordon? Have you managed to contact him yet?"

"Gordon?" Alan repeated, still sounding a little surprised by everything that had taken place. "Um - yeah, yeah, he's just briefing the local rescue teams on our situation. We're trying to work out a way to get you guys outta here. In fact..."

He broke off, the line falling silent. Scott exchanged a curious glance with Virgil, before clearing his throat.

"What is it, Al?" he asked softly. Alan paused slightly, the sound of his breathing the only thing that could be heard of him over the speaker in Scott's helmet.

"Guys, I'm gonna go get Gordon." he stated finally. "If we want to think up a plan of action, it would be better to do it together, right?"

"Right." Scott confirmed, glad to see that Alan's logic was still intact. "Good thinking, Alan. Go and get Gordon, we won't run off."

"F.A.B." Alan replied, and Scott could hear his brother's voice strengthening. "Sit tight, I'll be right back."

And then, as quickly as his comm-line had appeared, it disappeared again with a hiss of static and a low '_click'_ as the line disconnected. Scott turned back to Virgil and sighed, before straightening up and indicating to the remote that was balanced on his knee.

"You all set?" he asked, readying himself to switch on the alanine-converter. Virgil nodded his head once, taking in a calming breath and shifting slightly as he got ready to pull John's arm away from the pile of debris.

"I'm ready." he murmured, his own arm twinging painfully as his tight grip caused his muscles to tense up. Scott nodded in return, pressing the button to activate the electromagnetic reaction within the blocks, and using the small dial on the remote to speed up the process.

The blocks that surrounded John's trapped arm began to expand as the magnetised alanine ions reacted increasingly with the copper particles. This had been another of Brains' inventions - something he had discovered by accident, in fact. As the alanine changed in density, it would bond with the solid copper atoms within the covalent structure, and the entire compound would expand to up to ten times it's usual size, whilst still maintaining its initial strength and solidity. Therefore, it could be used to move a number of large objects without the need to physically relocate them. For, once the task had been completed, the blocks could be condensed once again to form their original chemical structure, and the position of the rubble would return to what it had been beforehand.

Virgil kept a close eye on the increasing gap between the layer of debris and John's arm, hardly daring to blink in case he missed the opportune moment to pull out the trapped limb. The seconds seemed to take hours to tick by, and the silence was both heavy and tense as both men focused their full attention on their respective tasks.

"Just another inch." Virgil murmured, keeping his eyes fixed on the rubble. "Nearly there. Three....two.....one....cut power!"

Swiftly pulling the arm out from underneath the rubble, Virgil folded it across John's chest and looked worriedly towards the pile of debris beside him, half expecting it to shift suddenly and come crashing down on top of him. However, the only movement was that of the plaster dust that sprinkled onto the floor, having been dislodged by the movement of the rubble. Virgil sighed in relief, turning his attention back to John.

"How bad is it?" Scott inquired, setting down the remote and inching closer to Virgil's side. Virgil was checking the oxygen gage on John's wrist, noting with approval that his brother still had over thirty minutes of oxygen left in the tank. There was no hurry to change it just yet.

Virgil gently felt John's arm, his fingers searching for any irregular lumps, bumps or breaks. "It seems to be alright," he said softly, reaching into his bag for a pair of scissors. "It's gonna consist of one giant bruise tomorrow, but I don't think it's any worse than that."

Cutting through John's sleeve, Virgil revealed the light skin underneath. It was obvious that the area of skin between wrist and elbow was severely bruised, but other than that the limb appeared to be in good condition. Virgil allowed himself a small smile of relief, sending up a prayer of thanks as he reached into his med-bag once more, pulling out a support sling.

"I'm just gonna make him more comfortable," he explained, carefully easing John's arm into the sling before laying it back across his chest. "And I'll hook him up to a diagnostic machine. Then I'll need to have a look at you leg, alright? I have to stop the bleeding"

Scott nodded in resignation, knowing that Virgil wouldn't take 'no' for an answer. And besides, however much Scott hated to admit it, his leg was really starting to cause him problems. It smarted like anything, and even the smallest of movements sparked a hot bolt of flame that would then shoot down his lower leg like the searing lash of a whip. Needless to say, it was causing Scott a certain amount of pain and discomfort. And it wasn't only the pain itself that was bothering Scott, it was the fact that - with his leg temporarily 'out of action' - he was of no use to any of his brothers. There was no way he would be able to carry a stretcher, at least not without the threat of him falling over and inflicting further injury upon John.

Virgil finished placing the last sensory pad on John's right wrist. He wanted to keep an eye on the blood pressure in that area, just in case the accident had caused a problem that he may have overlooked during his initial examination. Nodding in satisfaction at the results that appeared on the diagnostic panel, he turned around to face Scott, shuffling forward on his knees.

"Okay, Scooter, let me see the damage." he instructed lightly, reaching over with his left arm to grab his med-bag. As he began to pull it towards him, a sharp twinge in his upper-arm stilled his movements, hot needles of pain shooting down his muscles and into his hand. "Ah, dammit!" he hissed, cursing himself for forgetting his injury.

Scott's head shot up from where he had been watching John's breathing, his brow creased with concern. "Virge, what's wrong?" he asked worriedly, moving towards the younger Tracy, his own face taught with pain as he lent too hard on his injured leg. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine." Virgil said hurriedly, waving him away with his right hand as he regulated his breathing pattern. The pain receded to a dull throb in the centre of his upper-arm, and the field medic breathed a painful sigh of relief. "I think I just over-stretched the bruised skin." he stated. "And I may have strained the muscle as I fell. It's nothing a few days of light physio won't fix."

Scott's worried eyes met Virgil's. "Virge, let me see your arm." he ordered. "It's bleeding, see?"

"It's a scrape." Virgil replied, reaching into his med-bag and donning a fresh pair of gloves. "I already told you that. Now stop postponing your examination, and let me take a look at that gash."

Rolling his eyes at Virgil's stubborn persistence, Scott sat back against the large chunk of concrete behind him, grunting as his stretched his leg out and shifted so that Virgil could come and sit beside his lower half. The middle Tracy-son frowned worriedly as he peered at the ripped pant-leg of Scott's uniform, worry shining in his eyes as he took in the amount of blood that had soaked through the used-to-be white material.

"I'm gonna have to cut through this." he stated after a moment of silence, reaching over to grab the scissors from where he had left them on a small equipment tray beside John. Scott smirked behind his oxygen mask, shifting uncomfortably on the uneven ground.

"Cut through what, my leg?" he asked lightly. Virgil shot him a mock-glare, but his eyes were shining with warmth and humour.

"No, through your uniform, Scott." he elaborated. "Now keep still, or I _will_ end up cutting through your leg."

As the scissors sliced through the bloodied material, all the way up to just past Scott's knee, the frown on Virgil's face deepened, and the spark of concern in his eyes kindled to a raging fire of worry.

"Dammit, you didn't tell me it was _this _deep." he murmured, shocked at both the length and depth of the wound.

"I didn't know." Scott replied, glancing at his leg in mild disgust. The wound certainly did look ugly. It ran from the side of Scott's knee, slicing deeply into the flesh of his calf and gradually becoming shallower as it descended along the back of the leg. It seemed to end and inch or so above Scott's ankle, although with the amount of blood that covered the field commander's skin, it was almost impossible to tell for certain if this was indeed the case.

"How bad is it?" Scott asked, more interested than concerned about the state of his leg. After all, he'd been able to run - well, stagger - on it not twenty minutes earlier. It couldn't be all _that _bad. He watched as Virgil rummaged around in his med-bag for a handful of gauze swabs, before leaning back over Scott's legs and glancing up at him, his honey-burnt eyes soft and reassuring.

"You're gonna be fine, Scooter." he stated gently. "You're gonna need a whole bunch of stitches when we get back to the island, but it's nothing Tom and I can't handle. My first priority is stopping the bleeding, d'you understand? Now, the gash is pretty deep in this area of your calf," he pointed to the deep tear at the the side of Scott's leg, where the blood was still dribbling steadily from the torn flesh. "I'm gonna have to put pressure on the wound, okay? And I warn you, it's gonna hurt like hell."

Scott nodded, feeling a little sorry for his younger brother. Virgil hated to see any of the family in pain, and Scott knew that being forced to actually inflict it upon him was going to hurt Virgil more than it would hurt his own body. Trying to distract himself, Scott glanced down at his watch, raising an eyebrow as he noticed how much time had passed since Alan had contacted them.

"Hey Virge, what d'you suppose could be taking Alan so long?" he asked softly, his brow furrowing slightly. "D'you think anything's hap- Ah!"

He broke off with a cry of pain as Virgil pressed the gauze pad firmly against the side of his calf. Tendrils of pain shot out from that one point, searing up and down Scott's leg like wildfire. He gritted his teeth, breathing slowly and forcefully through the agonising throb in the affected limb. Virgil gazed at him in sympathy, but did not lessen the pressure that he applied to the wound.

"Sorry, Scooter." he said softly, his voice filled with regret. "Remember that old phrase _'I hurt you to help you'_? Well, this is it in action."

Scott managed a weak smile, which then turned into another grimace as his leg throbbed again. Virgil was beginning to secure the gauze pad in place with a roller bandage, and the added pressure on the wound was causing fireworks of pain the erupt in the injured limb. Hoping to find something else to distract himself with, Scott glanced around at the walls and ceiling, his own breathing sounding overly loud in the heavy silence.

_Okay, let's evaluate the situation. One - John's injured, but he's stable, and he isn't showing any signs of serious brain damage. Two - Virgil's mildly injured, but he's too darn stubborn to let me take a look. Huh, no surprise there. And three - we're all trapped in here until Alan and Gordon can find a way to dig us out. And speaking of the squirts, where are they? Alan said he'd be back in a minute, but he's been gone for a long while now. Perhaps he had to run off and help in a rescue in another part of the complex. Well, as long as he and Gordon are okay, I'm happy. Well, not completely happy. John's still unconscious, and my leg feels like Virge is trying to drill a hole into it with a pencil! _

Virgil secured the bandage in place with a small piece of fabric-tape, glancing up at Scott as he did so. His older brother was wearing a pained grimace, his right hand clenched into a fist as his other arm lay over his stomach, the palm facing upwards. It suddenly occurred to Virgil that Scott had not yet used his left arm, and alarm bells immediately began to sound in the back of his mind.

"Scott, what's wrong with your arm?" he asked softly.

"Nothing." Scott replied. "My arm's fine. I just broke a few fingers when my 'sled crashed, that's all."

Virgil frowned at his brother's calm attitude. "_'That's all', _he says." the twenty-one-year-old grumbled, picking up a hypodermic needle and a small bottle of senillapan - a strong drug that would help to dull the pain in Scott's leg.

Scott frowned as he saw the needle, moving his leg away slightly. "What's that?" he asked, cautiously. Virgil glanced up at him and raised an eyebrow.

"Scott, you better not be thinking of refusing to take this." he warned. "'Cause I'm really not in the mood to argue right now. It's just a pain med, okay?"

"No, not okay." Scott replied, moving his leg further out of Virgil's reach, gasping slightly as the limb throbbed painfully. "Is that stuff gonna make me drowsy, or affect my reflexes in any way?"

Virgil frowned at Scott's stubbornness, inching closer to his brother's side. "Yeah, it might make you feel a little drowsy." he stated. "But you'll just have to put up with that. Now hold still."

"Virge, I'm not taking it." Scott argued, shooting the younger man a firm glare. Virgil uncapped the syringe and inserted it into the bottle, measuring out the correct dosage before withdrawing the needle and glancing up at Scott.

"No, you're not gonna take it." he agreed lightly. "I'm gonna _give_it to you. Now - you have two options, Scott. There's the easy way, and then there's the hard way. You've experienced both, so you know what to expect. But either way, you're getting these pain meds."

Scott suddenly wished that Virgil _wasn't _International Rescue's field medic. Why couldn't John or Gordon have trained in his place? Surely _they _would never have forcefully injected somebody with unwanted pain meds, would they? No, only 'Virge-the-stubborn-ass-Surge' would be so firm and determined.

"Look, Virgil," Scott began, trying to reason with his younger sibling. "I might be needed later on if something goes wrong. And if my reflexes have been slowed down, how am I supposed to be of any use to you guys? You can't have a medicated commander in charge of a rescue, it's against protocol."

"So's refusing treatment." Virgil countered calmly, seemingly unfazed by his older brother's stubbornness. "Now hold still so that I can-"

_"Gordon to team members, please respond."_

Scott blinked in surprise, before recovering and reaching up with his right hand to tap the side of his helmet.

"Scott here, Gordon." he said, relieved that he had an excuse to hold off the shot for a little while longer. "Go ahead."

"Guys, I've got some good news." Gordon stated, and the older brothers could hear the smile in his voice.

"What?" Virgil inquired, momentarily forgetting about his quest to jab Scott with the needle. "What is it?"

There was a pause, either because of a genuine distraction, or merely due to the fact that Gordon wanted to make his statement as dramatic as possible.

"We've found another way into the building." the aquanaut stated proudly. "We're coming to get you guys outta there. Just sit tight, and we'll come and find you."

Scott smiled, leaning his head back against the pile of rubble and sighing in relief. He closed his eyes, and took in a deep breath, feeling his tense muscles relax a little more.

"Nice work, Gords." he replied. "We'll be waiting for you to arrive. Are the communicators still out of action?"

"I think so." Gordon's voice sounded slightly hesitant. "I mean, I tried it a couple of times when I was over by the control point, and I couldn't reach you guys. But the wind's really starting to pick up out here, so the gases may blow over the danger zone within the next few minutes. Anyway, we'll keep trying periodically to contact you, and see if the situation improves."

"F.A.B." Scott responded. "And be careful."

"Gotcha, Scotty." Gordon said, his voice determined. "We'll get you outta there, have no worries. I mean c'mon, I'm in charge. What could possibly go wrong?"

Scott snorted in amusement, blind to the fact that Virgil was beginning to inch closer to his side. "You don't want me to answer that, Gords. Now go on, get going. I'll see you in a few."

"F.A.B." Gordon replied, and then there was the familiar '_click'_ as the line disconnected. Scott sighed again, pondering to himself where exactly this 'other entrance to the building' was located. Alan had already stated that the back corridor was blocked, so it couldn't be that. And the top floors were too unstable to attempt an air-rescue. But whichever way they were entering into the building, Scott had complete faith in his younger brothers. Despite Gordon's love of jokes and pranks, he had a very serious and mature side to his character. Admittedly, he didn't often display it to the rest of the family, but it was most definitely there.

_I can't believe just how wrong things have gone on this rescue. We've had accidents before, of course, but it's never resulted in Gordon and Alan being forced to run the rescue single-handedly. They're only teenagers, for Pete's sake! They shouldn't have to shoulder so much responsibility. But still, I know that they'll handle the situation perfectly I have faith in them. Especially since they work together so well. All those years of being named 'The Terrible Two' were almost a build-up to the times when they would have to apply their team skills on the field - so to speak. I can't think of a better team than the one that those two make. They know each other so well, they can practically read each other's minds. And even though they're only teenagers, they still have the ability to - Ow!_

Something sharp suddenly bit into his arm, and he opened his eyes to see Virgil kneeling beside him, the now-empty hypodermic needle held in his hand. Virgil patted his arm gently and shrugged.

"See?" he said sweetly. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

Scott's frown deepened, and he glared at Virgil angrily.

_That's it. When we get home, I'm setting fire to his piano._

* * *

**_In the next chapter, we see how Gordon is coping with shouldering the responsibility of being the 'rescuer-in-charge'. Is he keeping it together? And what about Alan, is he managing to work with Gordon on their new (and important) mission to save their siblings? Will any of the Tracy boys be successful in contacting base or Thunderbird 5, or has contact been completely lost? And what of Brains' wonderful idea to 'modulate the frequencies'? Has this plan fallen through? Find out next time!_**

**_Okay folks, that's all for now. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it. It's really late now, so I'd best be off to bed, but PLEASE REVIEW and tell me what you thought of it. I decided to focus on Scott and Virge in this chapter, mainly because their predicamment is so serious, but also because they make nice characters to play with. I hope nobody was disappointed!_**

**_Okay, I have another two dance shows in the early afternoon and early evening of tomorrow, and then I'm back at school on Monday. Then there's another few shows on Wednesday, Thursday and Friday evening, so I'm gonna be hard pressed to find the time to update before then. But I promise, I will try. The day that the next chapter will probably be posted is Friday.But if you are 'really' desperate for a new update, I may respond to a unanimous begging-session. Lol._**

**_Have a great week, and I'll speak to you all soon!_**

**_Laters!_**

**_xoxoxoxoxoxox_**


	15. Chapter 15: Things Are Looking Up

**_Good morning, fellow fanfictioners!_**

**_Oh my goodness, I'm back early! Ta-daa! I expect you to all be impressed, okay? Lol. _**

**_See, last time I said 'Friday evening', right? And I've updated on Friday afternoon, so technically I'm 8 hours early! Admit it, I'm wonderful. Lol, just kidding. My college term ended yesterday, so I had the chance to type this morning before dance rehearsals instead of doing double Biology! So yeah, that's why I managed to squeeze in the time to update._**

**_Thanks, everybody, for the support you gave me about my dance shows. All the PMs were very much appreciated! And the reviews were awesome, too. I'm happy to see that everyone's enjoying the story so far. I hope you've all had a great week (I know I have), and I trust you're all looking forward to Christmas? I sure am!_**

**_And in response to Cassanadra's review: - A lot of authors on this site 'do' make Virgil the second-eldest, but I'm actually right with the family order_****_(for once - lol :^D). It's supposed to be John who comes after Scott. And yes, I have been watching the TV series for years, which is exactly 'why' I know John is the second-eldest son. If you watch the intro music at the beginning of every episode, you will notice that the Tracy boys appear on the screen in age order, not in the order of their respective Thunderbird vehicles. And it goes Scott, John then Virgil. So I kinda based it off that, and also off a book on Thunderbirds that I own. But it really doesn't matter in what order the brothers are written, in my opinion, just as long as Scott's the eldest and Alan's the youngest. Those two are kinda obvious though, right? Lol. Thanks for the review, anyway, I'm glad you are enjoying the story._**

**_Okay, back to the whole point of you being here. Let us continue.. Oh, and to avoid confusion (even though it's rather obvious in my opinion) the beginning of this chapter takes place a little while before the end of the last one. Everybody got that? Okey-dokey. On with the show..._**

* * *

Gordon was - to put it lightly - stressed. And it was both an unfamiliar and uncomfortable feeling. He'd never let stress bother him before, not even in the run-up to the Olympics. He'd always taken things like that in his stride. But this? This was different. His brothers were trapped, and there didn't seem to be any way of ascertaining their whereabouts. The magnetised particles in the gas that hovered over the danger zone were continuing to block the long-distance radio signals. And furthermore, Gordon had been unable to contact Thunderbird 5. All that he knew for certain was that the entrance to the science building had collapsed - the very same entrance under which he had seen John standing, not thirty seconds before the second earthquake hit them. And who knows what had happened to Scott and Virgil. Gordon could only pray that his older brothers were not seriously hurt.

Sighing heavily, Gordon leaned against the side of his hover-sled, glancing over to where the local rescue teams were pouring over site-maps of the complex, desperately looking for another way into the building. Gordon had tried to be of assistance but, being totally unfamiliar with the area, had simply ended up hovering about the rescuers, radiating his stress onto them. Knowing that it hadn't been helping the situation in the slightest, Gordon had returned to his position beside his hover-sled, waiting for some good news. He wasn't asking for much. Only for a small passage or tunnel that would get him into the building so that he could locate and rescue his brothers.

_Dammit, this is bad. What am I supposed to do in a situation like this? Scott would know. Man, I wish he were in charge instead of me. I feel totally out of my depth here, and that's never happened to me before. Even after what happened to me in the hydrofoil accident, I knew exactly what I needed to do. But at moment, I have no idea whatsoever. None of the local rescue teams can think up a good plan, either. The whole building is structurally unstable, so we can't just dig our way in. And if we try to pull away the heavier debris at the main entrance, the whole front wall could collapse on top of us. And we can't endanger more lives, that goes against our principals. But darn it, I wish I could get to them!_

"Gordon!"

The copper-haired Tracy turned around and, spotting the approaching figure, began to walk towards his younger brother as Alan came sprinting back over from where he had been standing beside the collapsed main entrance. As they drew closer together, Gordon stopped and allowed Alan to come to him, reaching up to tap the side of his helmet to switch off the microphone. Not that the rescue workers could hear them, of course, since they were still pouring over the site-maps over near the emergency vehicles.

As Alan came to a halt in front of Gordon, the older Tracy noticed that his little brother's eyes shone with hope and excitement. It was a very familiar look; the one that Gordon had seen countless times before as a child, when their older siblings had been due to return to the island after attending a term at boarding school.

"What is it?" Gordon inquired, praying for good news. "What happened?"

Alan grasped one of Gordon's arms tightly. "Gordon, I found them!" he exclaimed. "The guys, I manged to contact them!"

Gordon blinked in surprise, grasping Alan's shoulders in return "What?" he asked, hope bubbling up inside of him. "Are they alright? Where are they?"

"They're just behind that mound of rubble at the entrance." Alan replied, regaining his composure slightly as he calmed down. Then his face suddenly grew serious, his gaze dropping to the floor as he sighed and shook his head. "Gordo, John's - John's hurt pretty bad."

A sinking feeling in the pit of Gordon's stomach caused him to swallow forcefully, digesting the information. "Is he conscious?" he asked softly.

Alan shook his head again, looking up at Scott with concerned eyes. "Scott said he took a blow to the head when the entrance caved in. He and Virge wouldn't tell me anything besides that, but I know they were dulling it down for me. I could tell by the tone of Scott's voice that he was worried."

"Scott's always worried." Gordon stated automatically, trying to keep his younger brother's spirits up. "I'm sure John's gonna be fine. Yeah, he's probably gonna have a monster of a headache when he wakes up, but it's nothing he hasn't survived before. Let's just concentrate on getting them outta there, alright?"

Alan nodded, his creased brow relaxing slightly. "Alright." he agreed. "But Scott wants us to have a group discussion first. You need to come back to the entrance so that we can contact each other."

Gordon sighed in relief, glad that Scott was still in control of the situation. Striding off towards where the local rescue team was gathered, discussing their possible plans of action, Gordon yelled back to his younger sibling over his shoulder;

"Sure thing. I'll go tell the rescue workers that we've managed to find out where the guys are situated, and then you and I can head back over to the building to talk to the oldies, alright? Hey, Al. Alan! You coming?"

Alan nodded, catching up with Gordon as they walked swiftly over to where Greg Peterson and his men were studying the detailed site-map of the refinery complex. They were all talking into their communicators, and Greg was nodding his head, scribbling down notes on the side of the papers in front of him. As Gordon and Alan arrived beside the makeshift table he was leaning on, he glanced up, his eyes smiling.

"We've found a way in." he stated, his voice muffled slightly by his black oxygen mask. "It's gonna take a little while to get there, but we're gonna be able to get your guys out."

Gordon leaned over the older man's shoulder, peering at the drawn plan on the large sheet of paper that was spread out over the table. "Show me what ya got." he said, his eyes skimming over the scrawled noted. Greg raised a hand and pointed at a blue circle on the paper.

"This is us." he stated, tapping the paper gently with his index finger. "And this is the entrance to the main science building." he added, moving his finger upwards slightly to where there was a red cross. "All the areas marked with crosses are inaccessible."

_'Huh'_, Gordon thought dryly. _'There are a **heck** of a lot of crosses on that map.'_

"At first, it seemed as though it would be impossible to enter the building," Greg continued. "As all possible access points have either collapsed or been blocked by fallen debris. But we recently acquired new information on the layout of the building, and we discovered _this_ passageway," he tapped a small green circle near the back of the complex, glancing up at Gordon as he did so. "It's an empty storage unit in the basement that leads up into the main corridor."

"It's underground?" Alan added, more of a statement than a question, leaning over the table beside Gordon and frowning at the map. "Where abouts is the entrance?"

"There's a staircase leading down into the room from a door in the back wall of the complex." the site commander stated, his gaze shifting to Alan as he spoke. "And a couple of our guys just confirmed it; the door's almost entirely clear of obstructions. As far as I can see, this is our best chance we have of getting into the building any time soon."

Gordon nodded, his expression thoughtful. Then he gently slapped his hands on the table-top and straightened up, authority radiating out from him in waves.

"Alright, here's what we're gonna do," he began, putting a hand on Alan's shoulder. "Greg, we'll take four of your guys - plus myself and my colleague here - into the building. The fewer of us there are, the less chance there is of an accident occurring. I need you to decide which men you want to send in with us. Tell them to meet us at the entrance to the storage unit with whatever emergency equipment they can carry. I need to go and talk to the rest of my team first."

"You've managed to contact them?" Greg inquired, looking up at him in interest. Gordon could have slapped himself for forgetting to mention that rather important piece of information earlier. But instead, he merely nodded his head.

"Yeah," he said lightly, leaning forward to tap the large sheet of paper with a gloved finger. "They're located directly behind the collapsed entrance - right here. So, if this site map is correct, we should be able to reach them by following the main corridor right up to the front entrance."

Tracing the path with his finger, Gordon tapped the entrance and glanced over at the site commander, looking for confirmation. The older man nodded, a spark of determination kidling in his eyes as his mind began to work quickly.

"Sounds like a plan." Greg agreed, standing up and rolling up the papers. "I'll get the team ready, and we'll meet you there."

Gordon nodded his head once again, before steering Alan away from the rescue workers and back towards his hover-sled. He found himself beginning to calm down, his tense muscles relaxing as he slipped back into his professional role. He quickened his pace, his mind focused on one thing, and one thing only - completing the rescue mission.

Stopping beside the stationary vehicle, Gordon opened the back compartment and bent down to retrieve two oxygen packs. Turning to Alan, he noticed his younger brother's raised eyebrow, and handed him one of the rectangular-shaped tanks.

"We've got less than thirty minutes of oxygen left." he explained. "We need to replace the packs before we go into the building to rescue the guys. Turn around."

Alan obeyed his brother's light order, turning around in the spot and unfastening the strap across his chest as he did so. Pushing the rucksack-like tank off his shoulders, he heard the distinct '_click'_as Gordon unclipped the tube that fed into his oxygen mask, before immediately fastening it into the new tank. The oxygen filtered through Alan's mask, feeling as though it were several degrees colder than the gas from the first tank. Alan glanced down at the oxygen gage on his right wrist, noticing that the electronic dial shot back up to the highest bar. He wouldn't need to worry about his air supply for at least another four hours or so.

Gordon watched as Alan fastened the straps over his shoulders and around his chest once more, securing the tank in place. Then he turned back to Gordon and spun his finger around in the air.

"Turn." he ordered. Gordon gave him a mock salute and spun around on one foot, reaching up to unfasten his chest strap.

"Hey Gords?" Alan said suddenly, as Gordon felt his younger brother begin to switch the tanks on his back.

"Yeah?" the redhead inquired lightly, pushing the straps off his shoulders.

"How d'you think Dad's coping with all of this?" the younger teenager asked softly. "I mean c'mon, we've been out of contact with him for the majority of the mission. Don't you think he's gonna be freaking out by now?"

"Most likely." Gordon replied, hearing the '_click'_as the new oxygen canister was secured in place. "But Tom's there with him. And if anyone can calm Dad down, it's Tom. He'll be fine, Sprout."

Gordon pulled the straps back over his shoulders and fastened them in place across his chest, turning back around to face his younger brother. "And besides," he added. "There's always Tom's tranquiliser gun."

Alan finally managed a small laugh, dropping the used oxygen tank back into the compartment of Gordon's hover-sled. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

"Of course I'm right." Gordon smiled. "Am I ever wrong?" Then upon seeing the mischievous glint in Alan's eye, he waved off the comment. "Don't answer that."

Pulling Alan gently by the arm, he began to walk swiftly towards the entrance to the science building. "C'mon, Al. Let's go rescue the old folk, huh?"

Gordon jogged the last few feet, raising his left arm and typing the general frequency into his wrist-watch. A sudden blast of cool wind caught him off-guard, and he staggered slightly, before straightening up and coming to crouch down beside the pile of rubble. Particles of dust, ash and debris blew around his boots as he glanced down at the ground, the light material being moved easily by the strong breeze that had suddenly appeared from out of nowhere.

"Gordon to team members, please respond." he called, praying that the communicators would still be working.

There was a short pause, before a clear voice sounded over the comm-line.

_"Scott here, Gordon. Go ahead."_

"Guys, I've got some good news." Gordon stated, smiling in relief at being able to speak with his siblings once again

"What?" Virgil's voice inquired, hopefully. "What is it?"

Gordon was about to answer, when he noticed that Alan was not beside him. Frowning slightly, he glanced up, spotting the teenager a few feet away with his foot perched on a lump of concrete as Alan bent down to tie the laces on his boots. Rolling his eyes at his younger brother's inability to tie the laces with his gloves on, Gordon returned his attention to the conversation he was supposed to be having with his trapped team members.

"We've found another way into the building." the copper-haired Tracy stated. "We're coming to get you guys outta there. Just sit tight, and we'll come and find you."

"Nice work, Gords." came Scott's reply. "We'll be waiting for you to arrive. Are the communicators still out of action?"

"I think so." Gordon sighed, poking at the cut on the top of his hand with a gloved finger. "I mean, I tried it a couple of times when I was over by the control point, and I couldn't reach you guys. But the wind's really starting to pick up out here, so the gases may blow over the danger zone within the next few minutes. Anyway, we'll keep trying periodically to contact you, and see if the situation improves."

"F.A.B." Scott responded. "And be careful."

"Gotcha, Scotty." Gordon replied, determined to rescue his older siblings now more than ever. "We'll get you outta there, have no worries. I mean c'mon, I'm in charge. What could possibly go wrong?"

Gordon heard Scott snort in amusement. "You don't want me to answer that, Gords." the elder Tracy stated. "Now go on, get going. I'll see you in a few."

"F.A.B."

The minute the words were out of his mouth, Gordon cut the comm-link and stood up, turning around on the spot and stepping over the fallen debris as he made his way over to Alan, who had finally seen sense and taken off his gloves in order to tie his laces more efficiently.

"Congratulations." the older teenager smirked, as Alan removed his foot from the concrete block and straightened up. Alan shot him a withering glare, clearly unamused, and pulled on his gloves.

"Shut it, Gordon." he grumbled. "Let's just get going."

Gordon blinked in surprise at Alan's sudden change in attitude. "What's the matter with you?" he asked, a little defensively. He saw Alan's shoulders sag slightly as he let out a weary sigh.

"Sorry." the fifteen-year-old apologised. "It's just - I just - never mind. I just wanna get the guys outta there, okay?"

Gordon smiled at him sympathetically, even though Alan wouldn't be able to see it behind his oxygen mask. Putting a hand on his little brother's shoulder, he gently pushed him in the direction of the hover-sleds.

"Sure thing, kiddo. Your wish is my command."

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Scott winced as Virgil carefully taped his broken fingers, gritting his teeth against the pain and trying not to spew forth the long list of expletives that he'd been chanting silently within his own head.

"Sorry." the field medic murmured, having noticed his brother's pained expression. "Don't worry, I'm almost done."

Scott's gaze drifted back down the corridor, lingering on the area of thick, inky darkness. Although Virgil had set up portable lamps around them, this only seemed to deepen the blackness of the shadows at the far end of the corridor, where the war beams of the lamplight could not reach. And it put Scott on edge. As a child, he had always been determined to protect his younger siblings from the 'monsters' that lurked in the dark spaces under the bed, and within the unknown depths of a bedroom closet. There was still something about the darkness that stirred up those old, child-like, protective emotions within him - even though his brothers were far too old to fear the 'Bogey Man' any more.

"There." Virgil sighed happily, gently releasing Scott's hand. "Well, the good news is that your fingers won't be falling off any time soon."

Scott glanced back over at Virgil and rolled his eyes. "Gee, thanks for that. I'll be able to sleep without fear tonight."

Virgil chuckled softly, packing away the medical items he'd been using on Scott's injuries. Sitting back on his heels, he cocked his head to the side and studied the older Tracy intently. Scott returned his gaze, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

"What?" he asked, shifting in his position slightly and sighing in relief when he did not feel a great deal of pain.

Virgil's gaze flickered over the rest of Scott's body carefully, his eyes searching for any tell-tale signs of further injury. "Are you _sure_ that you're not injured anywhere else?" he pressed.

Scott let out a frustrated groan. "Virgil, I've told you a hundred times already!" he complained, not caring that he sounded at least ten years younger than his actual age.

Virgil held up a hand. "Okay, okay, I get it. You're '_fine_'. But I swear to God, Scott; if I find out you're hiding something from me, there'll be hell to pay."

Scott raised his other eyebrow. "You're one to talk." he murmured.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Virgil asked, looking up from where he had been running a hand-held scanner over John's body.

"I mean that you've been telling me you're '_fine_' ever since you got here, even though it's obvious that you're not." the field commander elaborated, pushing himself up on his right hand and shuffling towards Virgil, glad that the pain meds were working and his leg wasn't protesting the movement.

Virgil sighed, dropping the scanner back down into his med-bag and looking up at Scott steadily. "Scooter, it's nothing serious." he stated. At Scott's frown, he allowed his shoulders to slump and let out another weary sigh. "Look, I've got a few bruised ribs - badly bruised from what I can tell - but they're not broken. I might've cracked one or two, but nothing worse than that. And besides, there's no way of telling until I can do an x-ray. We'll just have to wait until we get back to the island."

"What about the portable x-ray machine in Two's sickbay?" Scott inquired, the fingers of his left hand brushing lightly over Virgil's side.

"Brains was still modifying it, last time I checked." Virgil replied, pushing Scott's hand away. "A couple of weeks ago, a ran a routine check on all the equipment in the sickbay, and I realised that the x-ray machine wasn't giving me an accurate reading."

"How did you figure that out?" Scott asked, frowning slightly. Virgil looked up a him, his eyes smiling.

"When I ran an x-ray of my right hand, it told me I had four wrists and eight thumbs." he explained casually. Scott raised his eyebrow again.

"Huh. Bet that was an interesting sight." he remarked.

Virgil pulled off his surgical gloves, dropping them into a plastic disposal tub within his med-bag. "It certainly was."

Scott grinned, shaking his head in amusement. Then, glancing down at the unmoving form beside him, he became serious once more, reaching out to run his fingers through John's ruffled and blood-stained hair. He nearly jumped out of his skin when John let out a soft moan, his head shifting beneath Scott's fingertips. Virgil was immediately leaning over him, a fresh pair of gloves already donned.

"John?" he called, grabbing the penlight from the top pocket of his uniform. "John, can you here me? Open your eyes for me, man."

John groaned again, screwing up his brow in a painful grimace. Virgil reached out to gently cup his brother's face, his palm resting on the cheek as his fingers brushed lightly over the white bandage on John's forehead. Slowly, John's eyes crept open, although they did not grow any wider than narrow slits as John squinted in the light of the portable lamps. Both Scott and Virgil gazed down at the astronaut in relief, and John stared back at them groggily. He blinked a few times, before his gaze finally settled on his younger brother, who sat closer to him than Scott.

"Uhn...Virge?" he slurred, his weak voice muffled by the oxygen mask since it was no longer being amplified by the microphone.

"Hey, Johnny." Virgil greeted softly, his eyes locking with his older brother's as he studied John's pupil reaction. He saw the pain and confusion that shone from the aqua-blue orbs as John shifted beneath him, and immediately his protective side kicked into action.

"Don't worry, it's alright." he soothed, brushing his thumb over John's cheek. "You're gonna be okay. Just relax, Johnny. Now, I need you to focus on me for a second, alright? C'mon, I know you can do it. I'm not _that_ ugly, am I?"

The light humour brought forth a chuckle from Scott, but went completely unnoticed by John, who seemed to be having a hard time staying awake. Virgil hadn't really been expecting a reaction from him, but it still pained him to see John so confused and lethargic - especially since the blond-haired Tracy was supposed to be the sharp-witted, sharp-minded member of the family. Lifting up his penlight, Virgil shone it in both of John's eyes, sighing sadly when his brother shut them automatically to block out the painfully bright light.

"No, no, no." Virgil murmured softly, tapping the side of John's face ever so gently. "You gotta keep looking at me, Johnny. C'mon, wakey-wakey."

With a grunt of pain, John's eyes opened again, and blinked up at Virgil drowsily. "Thatta boy." Virgil smiled, wishing he wasn't wearing the oxygen mask so that John could see his whole face. Instead, he settled for putting as much warmth and comfort into his words as he leaned closer to John's body and held up the penlight again. "Okay, just keep your eyes on me. That's it, good job."

Virgil noticed with concern that John's pupils, although reactive, were slightly uneven. Frowning worriedly, he slipped the penlight back into his pocket and reached out to cup John's face once more. His older brother seemed to relax at the touch, and Virgil allowed a fond smile to form on his lips.

"Johnny, can you tell me where you are?" he asked softly, his thumb resuming it's rhythmic stroking as it brushed gently over the pale cheek.

John blinked again, turning his head slightly to the left. Then he stiffened, squeezing his eyes tight shut and letting out a pained moan. "Uhn...head...head hurts." he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah, I bet it does." Virgil murmured gently. "You were hit by a load of debris when the entrance fell in on you."

John frowned at the news, clearly not understanding what was happening. "Wha'?" he questioned weakly, his gaze shifting to Scott as the other Tracy leaned over Virgil's shoulder to look at him.

"Yeah, buddy, there was another earthquake." Scott explained softly. "You had gone on ahead to meet us at the entrance so that Virge and I could finish stabilising- Oh crap!"

Virgil's head snapped round to stare worriedly at his older brother. "Scotty, what is it?" he asked. "What's wrong?"

Scott's concerned gaze met Virgil's, his brow furrowed slightly. "Virge, I totally forgot about Chris."

Virgil felt his stomach drop as he remembered the injured scientist for the first time. Taking a deep breath, he let it out slowly.

"Damn." was all he could manage.

"Virge, I'm gonna go back and check on him." Scott stated, beginning to push himself to his feet. "I'll take your hover-sled and bring him back here, okay?"

Virgil reached up and grabbed his brother's arm, ignoring the painful twinge in his side. "Scotty, don't you even _think_about it." he began, his voice firm. "You have three broken fingers, a sliced-and-nearly-diced leg, and I only just gave you that ten milligram dose of senillapan. You're in no condition to drive a 'sled. I'll go, you stay here with John."

Scott gently swatted Virgil's hand away. "I'm fine, the drug's barely affecting me." he stated, pushing himself unsteadily to his feet. "And besides, you've already strapped up my fingers. I'll drive carefully, I promise. It's only a little way down the corridor."

Virgil glared at Scott through his visor as his older brother began to hobble away. "Scott Carpenter Tracy, get your butt back here _right_ _now_!" he yelled. Hearing a pained grunt from beneath him, he grimaced a ran a hand through John's hair apologetically. "Sorry, Johnny." he murmured, before tapping the side of his helmet and keying in Scott's private comm-line code.

"Relax, would you?" Scott groaned, leaning against the wall a few feet away and looking back at Virgil with a determined expression on his pale face. "One of us needs to go back and check if he's alright; and at the moment, John needs you more than he needs me. So _I'm_ going, not you."

"Scott, on medical grounds I'm ordering you to get back here!" Virgil growled, knowing full well that Scott intended to follow through with his plan, no matter what. He saw Scott freeze to the spot, then turn around slowly.

"And _I'm_ ordering _you_ to stay here." he replied harshly. "And we can't both stay here, so the only logical course of action is for _me_ to go get Chris, and for _you_ to stay here and look after John. Don't worry, I'll be back before you know it."

Virgil saw Scott hobble over to the hover-sled, his heartbeat increasing as the frustration bubbled up inside him.

"Dammit, Scott, why'd you have to be such a jerk?!" he hissed, almost to himself, resisting the urge to throw something at his older sibling.

"I heard that." came the tight reply, as Scott unsteadily swung a leg over the 'sled.

Virgil glared the stubborn pilot. "Good. It's true." he retorted. When there was no answer, Virgil let out a loud noise of frustration. "Scott, I'll tell Dad about this." he warned.

"Tattle-tale." Scott grumbled, powering up the engine.

"Scott, this is going _completely_ against protocol!" Virgil argued, trying to get his older brother to see sense. "When Dad finds out just how stupid you're being, he's gonna have you doing Tracy Industries reports for the next six weeks!"

"Fine by me." Scott replied tersely. "Now shut up, and stay put. I'm only going a little way down the corridor, you should even be able to hear my engine when I reach Chris. I'll be back in a few minutes."

The line was disconnected with it's usual _'click'_, and Virgil slammed his fist down on the hard ground, cursing up a storm within the confines of his helmet. He was sure that, had his father heard even half of the words that he was using, it would be _him_, not Scott, who was stuck doing office reports for six weeks. But still, Virgil couldn't help but feel frustrated. Why did Scott have to be such an idiot all the time?

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Scott drove slowly away from the light near the collapsed entrance, not trusting his reflexes enough to drive at his usual speed. He felt a little guilty about having been so blunt towards Virgil. After all, his younger brother was only concerned about his well-being. But, on the other hand, the only reason why Scott had been so adamant about going to find Chris was because _he_ was worried about _Virgil's _well-being. Despite the younger man's protests, Scott knew that Virgil's bruised ribs were causing him a great deal of pain and discomfort.

_He's too darn stubborn, that's his problem. He'll never admit to needing medical attention if anybody else is hurt - or at least, not until they've been taken care of. But still, he's being ridiculous. It's obvious he's in pain. He needed those meds a lot more than I did. When I get back there with Chris, I'm gonna check him over myself. I may not know as much about medicine as Virge, but my EMT training will provide me with enough knowledge to realise whether or not he's really as 'okay' as he claims to be. But still, I shouldn't have yelled at him like that. He was just doing his duty; him being the field medic and all. I guess we can both be stubborn asses sometimes. I'll apologise when I get back, and I'll make it up to him somehow. _

Carefully pushing on the left handle-bar of the 'sled with the palm of his hand (he'd figured that this was the easiest way to avoid causing further damage to his broken fingers), Scott manoevered his way around the filing cabinets he recalled having passed earlier as he had run - well, staggered - towards the entrance in an attempt to find John.

Turning another corner in the corridor, Scott narrowly avoided colliding with a second filing cabinet that had suddenly loomed up in front of him. Reducing his speed to an even slower crawl, he blinked and focused his attention on driving, realising that trying to think and drive at the same time would not be wise. Apparently, pain meds also blocked a man's limited ability to multi-task.

_Damn, did I really just admit to that? Okay, focus, focus. If I crash at this snail-pace, Gordon will never let me live it down. Plus Virge will go ballistic. Oh, I guess it's too late for that - he's furious at me. Still, I wouldn't want him to worry unnecessarily._

Realising that he had arrived at the point where he had - unintentionally - abandoned Chris, Scott put on the breaks and stood up off the hover-sled, swaying momentarily as a sudden dizziness came over him.

"Damn drugs." he muttered, leaning a hand against the wall to support himself and closing his eyes, waiting for the dizzy spell to pass. Once he had regained his sense of gravity, he straightened up and switched on the bright beam of his wrist-light, pointing it down the corridor. Reaching up with his left hand, he tapped the side of his helmet with his thumb to switch on the microphone.

"Chris? Chris, can you hear me?" he called, beginning to make his way around one of the fallen filing cabinets.

"Over here!" a voice replied, coming from somewhere up ahead.

Scott directed his wrist-light towards the ground on beside one of the filing cabinets, and immediately the dust-covered form of the scientist came into view. The field commander hobbled over to where the younger man lay, relieved that he appeared to be in no worse a condition than he had been when Scott had left him earlier on.

"Hey, man." he greeted, dropping down carefully beside the back section of the hover-sled. "You okay?"

Chris nodded, smiling shakily behind his transparent oxygen mask. "Yeah, I'm okay." he murmured. "M'tired, and my thigh's still killin' me, but I'll live."

Scott grinned, squeezing Chris' shoulder. "Glad to hear it." he replied. Then, allowing his face to become serious again, he dropped his hand and began to carefully unfasten the clasps that secured the hover-stretcher to the back of the 'sled, being sure not to damage his fingers in the process.

"Sorry I had to leave you for so long." Scott apologised, glancing at the man as he spoke. "One of my colleagues got injured when the entrance collapsed, and I got distracted trying to get him outta there. I didn't mean to leave you on your own for this amount of time."

Chris chuckled softly. "I hafta admit," he said lightly. "You had me worried back there. I thought you'd left without me. And when that other hover-vehicle of yours came zooming through here - well, I didn't know _what_ was gonna happen."

Scott smirked as he remembered Virgil's desperation to reach them at the entrance. "Yeah, that was our team's field medic. When I told him about one of our guys being hurt, he got a little - protective. He probably didn't even see you behind the filing cabinet."

As Scott finished unhooking the hover-stretcher from the back section of the 'sled, he put a hand back on Chris' shoulder.

"Okay, here's what's going to happen," he began, locking eyes with the younger man. "I'm gonna load the stretcher onto the back of my hover-sled, andtake you over to the front entrance so that I can keep a closer I on your condition. Now, the stretcher may vibrate a little as I switch the hover-boosters on, but it's nothing to worry about, okay?"

Chris nodded his head in understanding. "Okay."

Scott squeezed his shoulder again before standing up and stepping over to the far end on the stretcher, where the hover controls were located.

"Alright." he smiled. "Let's get you outta this makeshift office, shall we?"

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Brains glared at the modulator above him, allowing his head to fall back against the hard floor of the circuitry hatch. Why couldn't he figure this out?! He'd won dozens of awards for his inventions and discoveries over the past twenty years. He'd even been given an alias so that he could work for the government on an important project. He'd met with some of the world's greatest men - Jeff Tracy being one of them - and has, in way, been named one himself. So why - why in heaven's name couldn't he re-modulate the frequency of a simple transversicle scanner?!

Holding his tool between his teeth, he fumbled blindly to his left, feeling for his data-pad. Grabbing the item, he brought it up in front of his face, his eyes flickering over the numbers and letters swiftly as he searched for the detail that he was missing. Sighing in frustration, he reached up a hand and wiped the sweat from his brow. He didn't understand it. Theoretically, his plan worked out without a signle flaw. In practice, however, nothing seemed to be happening. He'd tried to get through to the Tracy boys four times now, and he was still having little - correction, _no_ - success in raising them over the comm-line.

Taking the tool out of his mouth, he reached up to adjust the line of guidance-chips he had just inserted. Then frowning, he put them back the way they had been originally. However, upon changing his mind once more, he glanced down at the pad, and then reached up to change their order once again. Sighing in frustration, he shook his hed, at a loss. For one of the first times in his life, he had completely run out of ideas. And he didn't like the useless position it left him in. Not one bit.

Throwing the pad to the side, Brains made to sit up, forgetting that he had been laid out flat on his back inside a _very_ cramped circuitry hatch. Consequently, the top of his head connected rather solidly with the immovable force of the secondary induction board.

"Ow!" the scientist grunted, clutching his head in one hand as he shot a withering glare at the offending object on the ceiling above him. Then he froze, a sudden realisation coming to him as his eyes locked onto the hard, black induction circuitry box.

"You absolute moron." he hissed incredulously, suddenly knowing what had gone wrong in his otherwise flawless plan. He hadn't compensated for the fact that the mainframe scanners used additional power to boost their wavelengths. He'd only been modifying the primary induction circuitry!

Grabbing his tool from beside him, he unscrewed the bolts on the protective casing of the secondary panel, his mind immediately beginning to function at it's full capacity. His fingers skillfully extracted and inserted the different induction wires into their separate sources, his brain recording each and every change he made and logging it away to be used in the future.

Finally, after several painstaking minutes, Brains fastened the protective casing back over the circuitry board, pushing away from the ceiling with his hand so that he slowly slid out of the hatch and back into the main control room of Thunderbird 5. Wasting no time to straighten his lab coat, which he wore over his Thunderbirds uniform, he ran over to the communications panel and hurriedly punched in a code, choosing one of the Tracy boys at random.

"This is Thunderbird 5 calling danger zone, come in please." he stated, glancing down at the comm-panel to see which Tracy he had sent the message to. There was an agonisingly long pause, before the speaker crackled into life, and a slightly fuzzy reply sounded within the control room.

"Brains! Man, you have no idea how glad I am to hear your voice."

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Virgil glanced up impatiently towards the end of the corridor, a frown tugging at his brow.

_C'mon, Scotty, what's taking you so long? I swear, if you've gone and passed out right in the middle of the corridor, I am so not gonna come to your rescue. I told you not to go, but why would you want to listen to me? After all, I'm only a doctor, it's not like I know anything about your physical state!_

Virgil shook his head to get rid of the ridiculous thoughts that were swirling around in his mind. He was overreacting. Everything was fine. They'd been through dozens of rescues that were just as serious as this one, and they'd all come out alright in the end. He just needed to keep his cool, and everything would be okay. Glancing down at John's body, he let out a weary sigh, running a hand through his brother's hair. John had slipped back into unconsciousness a few minutes ago, but his vitals had remained steady. Virgil suspected that his body was merely so utterly exhausted that it simply could not stay awake any longer.

"At least you're not a particularly difficult patient when you're like this." Virgil murmured, picking up a hand-held scanner and running it over John's arm, scanning for a build-up of pressure in the limb. When there was no indication that such a thing existed, he sighed in relief, switching off the scanner and dropping it back into his med-bag.

"D'you think I overreacted, John, yelling at Scott like that?" he asked softly, glancing off down the corridor once more. "I was only trying to stop him from getting himself hurt. I know he'll probably be fine, the drug won't start to make him _really_ drowsy until it begins to wear off. But still, he was _technically_ going against protocol. And I wasn't joking when threatened to tell Dad, either. If he so much as complains about me between now and the time we get home, the truth's coming out."

Taking a deep and steadying breath, Virgil dropped his gaze back down to where John lay beside him. He was surprised to see his older brother regarding him with an all-too-familiar expression upon his face. With one eyebrow slightly raised, almost disappearing beneath the white bandage on his forehead, John stared unblinkingly up at Virgil, looking at the medic with those questioning - although slightly unfocused - blue eyes. Virgil smiled slightly. It appeared that John was a little more lucid than the last time he he had been awake.

"Hi, John," he said softly, leaning over the older Tracy again and picking up his right wrist. "How're you feeling?"

"Ouch." John grunted, grimacing as Virgil held his arm so that he could study the small monitor on his wrist. "Virge? Wha-what...happened?"

Virgil noticed with relief that John's blood-oxygen levels had risen slightly. Carefully setting the bruised limb back down across John's chest, he ran a hand through his brothers hair once again, finding the familiar action soothing - both for his patient _and_ for himself.

"I told you a couple of few minutes ago, don't you remember?" he asked lightly, studying John's pupils. John shook his head, then stiffened, grimacing.

"Head hurts." he muttered, his eyes screwed shut as they had been before. Virgil nodded sympathetically.

"Yeah, you've got a nasty concussion, Johnny." Virgil stated softly, wondering how many times he would be saying this sentence before John became lucid enough to remember it for himself. "The entrance to the science building fell in on you. You were lucky to have only bashed yourself around a bit, space-face. You even had me and Scott rowing over who was gonna stay with you. I guess that just shows how popular you are, huh? Or how unpopular, it can go either way."

"Scott?" John inquired groggily, latching onto the one word that he fully recognised. Virgil cupped John's cheek gently and rubbed his thumb over the pale skin.

"Scott'll be back here any second now." he stated. "I promise. And if he's not, he's gonna have me to answer to."

John let out another groan. "Virge," he rasped. "Feel sick."

Virgil winced at how miserable his older brother sounded. "I know, Johnny, I know." he murmured. "I'm sorry. Don't worry, we'll have you back at home before you know it. And then you'll be as grumpy as a Gordon-fish without water for the next couple of days, huh? But that's to be expected. You're gonna have a whopper of a headache, too."

"Already have...headache." John mumbled, closing his eyes again. Virgil tapped his cheek gently.

"Don't go to sleep, John." he instructed, softly but firmly. "You need to stay awake until Scott gets back, don't you?"

John opened his eyes again and blinked up at Virgil in disorientation. "Where - where's Scott?"

Virgil sighed and ran a hand through John's hair once again, wanting nothing more than to have his older brother back in the infirmary at Tracy Island. There, he would be able run more indepth scans of John's brain, just to make sure that there wasn't any serious damage that he had overlooked. A concussion was serious enough, but there was always the danger that John's brain was continuing to swell from the minor bruising it had suffered. And, if the pressure became too much, the brain could begin to push against the side of the skull, which would only cause further damage. Virgil prayed that this rare occurrence would not happen to his older brother.

_That's the only bad thing about being their doctor; you know all the worst-case scenarios. And I've seen injuries like John's turn fatal because of subcranial pressure. But it is very rare, I've gotta remember that. John's gonna be fine. He'll be in my infirmary for a few days, but he should be back in action in a few weeks, if all turns out well. And his arm doesn't appear to be broken, which is a blessing. John would hate to break that arm again, especially since he cracked it just last Spring. He was so releived when I didn't have to put it in plaster. Well, unless my diagnosis is completely wrong, I'd say that the worst he could have suffered his a hairline fracture to his humourous. And I can cope with that, no problem._

Suddenly, a faint crackling sounde in his helmet made him jump, and a familiar and welcoming voice filtered through the speaker.

_"This is Thunderbird 5 calling danger zone, come in please."_

Reaching up to press the side of his helmet, completely ignoring the slight twinge in his arm, Virgil grinned, relief pumping through his body.

"Brains! Man, you have no idea how good it is to hear your voice." he stated, dropping his gaze back down to John. In the distance, he heard the tell-tale sounds of his hover-sled engine approaching slowly, and his grin widened.

Oh yes. Perhaps things were starting to look up after all.

* * *

**_In the next chapter, we watch as Gordon, Alan and the rescue team try to make their way towards the front entrance. Will they be successful? Will they be able to get three older brothers out of the building, or will more problems get in their way? And when wide-spread communications are finally restored, how will Jeff react to the news that John and Scott are both badly hurt? Find out next time!_**

**_Wow, that was a long chapter! ('wipes forehead') I didn't think I was gonna add that much stuff. It also hasn'r been beta-read (except by me) coz my brothers find themselves a little rushed for time with their not-very-busy schedules. Tsk! As Scott pointed out, men have a limited ability to multi-task. Anyway, the point is that there may be a few typos that I missed, and I would be forever greatful if you could point one out to me if you spot one. But if you don't, then that's great! _**

**_I hope you all liked the chapter! If you are feeling so inclined, PLEASE REVIEW and tell me what you thought about it. And see? No cliffie today, either! Can't promise about he next chapter, though. Hee hee!_**

**_Thanks for reading! I've broken up from college now, but there are still six more shows (and general Christmas prepareations) to go. So yeah, gonna be a tad busy between now and Christmas. I will 'try' to update before the 25th, but I can't make any promises. So if I don't see you before then....MERRY CHRISTMAS and GOD BLESS YOU!_**

**_Best wishes to you all,_**

**_Little Miss B. xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox_**


	16. Chap 16: Light At The End Of The Tunnel

**_Hello again! _**

**_Yes, I'm back a lot earlier than I promised in the A/N of my last chapter. You can thank 'criminally charmed' for that. She challenged me, and I'm not the kinda girl to back away from an itty-bitty playful challenge, so I managed to squeeze in an update. It wasn't easy, mind you, and it meant that I missed the triple-bill of Numb3rs that FiveUS showed this evening (and it was the 'one' night - other than Christmas - when I didn't have a dance show on! Tsk!) But hey, at least I got this posted! And besides, I've seen those episodes before. I've been deprived my fix of the Eppes boys, but now it's time to provide you with your dose of Tracy-family action. _**

**_Thanks for all the great reviews, by the way. I know I always say this, but I really do appreciate the support and kind remarks you leave. And remember, I also love concrit. After all, it's the only way my writing will ever be able to improve!_**

**_Please read on..._**

* * *

Thomas Palmar stood with his arms crossed over his chest, leaning against the back wall of the spacious room as he silently regarded his old friend. Jeff had resumed his pacing several minutes ago, the rhythmic '_clanking'_ of his feet on the metal grates of the control platform punctuating the heavy silence like gunfire. Jeff was stressed - there was simply no other way of putting it. And it was beginning to get out of hand. Again.

As Jeff ran a hand through his hair, he glanced across to the silent communications panel, sighing softly as his frown deepened. He had lived so long with his five lively sons, and he now found the silence almost unbearable. Heck, he'd even suffer listening to Gordon and Alan bicker just so that he could hear their voices once again. International Rescue had never experienced a complete communications failure before, and Jeff hadn't quite been prepared for just how nerve-wracking it was. To hear that a second earthquake had struck the danger zone, and then be unable to contact you five children, who you knew for a fact were directly in the centre of all the danger - well, it all but tore you to pieces.

Thomas allowed his gaze to stray up to the ceiling as he saw Jeff pause in his pacing. _Maybe he's beginning to calm down. I hope so, all this stress is gonna wear him out. Just like it did back when- Uh-oh. What's he doing now?_

Out of the corner of his eye, Thomas saw Jeff run a hand through his hair again as he began to walk over to the counter at the far side of the room, where Onaha had left an enormous, steaming pot of hot coffee. A pot which was already three-quarters empty.

"Touch that coffee-pot again, and you die." Thomas warned flatly, not bothering to avert his gaze from the ceiling.

Jeff spun around, blinking at his friend in apparent confusion. "I'm sorry?"

"You're gonna be." the doctor mumbled. Jeff looked at him quizzically.

"Tom, what on earth are you talking about?" he asked, forgetting about his need for coffee as he stared in confusion at the brown-haired doctor.

"How many cups have you drunk already, Jeff?" Thomas inquired, lowing his eyes from the overhead lights and regarding the Tracy patriarch neutrally.

Jeff shrugged. "Dunno. Three?"

"Seven." Thomas corrected, frowning at the ex-astronaut disapprovingly. Jeff rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, looking like a boy who'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"That many?" he questioned. At Thomas' nod, he gave a sheepish smile.

"I wasn't really counting." he murmured, walking back over to his command chair and sitting down. Thomas pushed himself away from the wall, the frown still on his face as he approached the other man.

"Well I was." he stated, coming to stand beside the communications panel and putting his hands on his hips. "Your body isn't young enough to handle an excessive amount of caffeine, Jeff. You're gonna make yourself sick at the rate you're going."

Jeff pointedly refused to look at his friend, and instead concentrated his attention on reading the various weather reports that had been sent down from Thunderbird 5 regarding the area surrounding the danger zone.

"Don't stand like that, Tom, only my mother could ever pull off a stance like that." Jeff remarked absently, picking up a data-pad and trying to focus his on the long list of temperature readings. "And stop insinuating that I'm old, you're the same age as me."

"In body, maybe, but not in spirit." Thomas replied lightly, removing his hands from his hips and crossing his arms over his chest casually. Jeff smiled softly, dropping the pad back down onto the control desk and leaning his elbows on the edge of the panel, bringing his hands together and interlocking the tips of his fingers. He let out a weary sigh, resting his chin atop his hands and closing his eyes briefly.

"It's been over an hour since Brains last heard from them." he murmured, feeling a headache beginning to build up behind his eyes from a combination of the caffeine and the stress that was coursing through his body. "Tom, I can't stand this silence. I _need_ to know that they're alright!"

_They might've been injured - badly injured for all we know. And there's nothing I can do about it but sit here and wait for Brains to establish contact with them. Until we know for certain whether or not they can manage on their own, I can't send in any of our agents. I mean, the boys could all be perfectly fine, and I could be fretting over my own darn imagination. But on the other hand, they could have all been hurt when the second earthquake hit. There's just no way of knowing until Brains gets through that darn electromagnetic barrier. Dammit, I hate chemistry._

He felt a hand come to rest on his shoulder, and Thomas' voice broke through his gloomy thoughts.

"Brains'll get through soon, Jeff." the doctor promised gently, squeezing his shoulder. "And then you'll see that you've been panicking over nothing. They'll have a few bumps and bruises, but they'll be okay. And, just to warn you, Virgil's gonna kill you when he finds out how much coffee you've drunk this evening."

Jeff turned around in his chair and raised an eyebrow. "You're gonna tell him?"

Thomas nodded, smirking. "Of course. I've already started planning how I'm gonna begin the conversation. I'll make it the highlight of my week."

Jeff grinned in return, shaking his head and allowing his gaze to drift around the room. Then he paused, frowning. Something was missing. No, not something - someone_. Two certain kids, in fact._

"Say, where have Fermat and Tin-Tin run off to?" he inquired. Thomas glanced up at him, then smiled.

"I sent them off a few minutes ago to get something to eat and drink." he explained, running a hand through his chocolate-brown hair. "They needed to take a break from worrying, too."

Jeff nodded, smiling slightly. He knew that the two teenagers saw his sons as their older siblings, and although they did not often take part in official rescues like Alan did, they would still rarely leave the command and control centre during a mission for more than a few minutes. Although Fermat had the brains and the skills to take part in missions, he still lacked the physical height and strength to participate in hands-on rescues. They had also discovered that his asthma interfered with his performance on the field, after one of his first 'official' rescues had nearly ended in disaster. Jeff was just glad that Virgil had been nearby to help out.

However, whilst Fermat didn't have the same strength and agility as the other boys, he made up for it with his quick-thinking brain and skilled imagination. After Spring break, he'd proven himself to be a valuable member of the team, as he and his father had spent much of their free time fixing and improving the control systems on Tracy Island. It had also been Fermat who had designed the new target-disruption system that had now been installed up on Thunderbird 5. It was an extra precaution against enemy attack, as it blocked target scanners and protected the station against the threat of missiles and other such weaponry. Jeff had been thrilled at the idea, as it was another way to ensure that his son would never be put in such a dangerous and defenceless position again.

And Tin-Tin - well, she was different from both Alan _and _Fermat. She wasn't blessed with the same level of genius as Fermat, nor with the same physical strength and stamina as Alan, but she was still an invaluable member of the Thunderbirds team. She took part in the occasional rescue, depending on how much the team needed an extra member. In fact, she probably would have gone on the present rescue, had she not injured her ankle earlier that same day. She would most likely have taken her usual position at Mobile Control, where she could use her skills with the communications systems to establish a simple multi-link between the team members throughout the duration of the rescue. Both John and Jeff had been surprised at how quickly she had picked up the knack of manning the communications equipment. She and Alan had absorbed their training like dry sponges. That was another trait that they shared. Well - that and their identical fiery tempers.

_I guess that's why Penny thinks they're so perfect for each other. She's even hinted that she'd be willng to bet her yacht on the two of them getting married before they reach their__ mid-twenties. If you ask me, I think she was making a rather large assumption. I mean yes, they are somewhat of an item, everybody can see that. Bus still, they're only kids. I doubt it'll last into adulthood. Oh man, my baby boy as an adult? That's a scary thought. It makes me feel old just thinking about it. I still remember when he came home from hospital. He was the most gorgeous little bundle you'd ever laid eyes on. And those eyes - well, they still melt my heart every time I look at them. _

"Jeff?"

Jeff blinked, coming out of the pleasant memories with a dreamy sigh. "Mmm-hmm?"

Thomas was regarding him with a slightly raised eyebrow. "Man, I wish I had taken a picture of you just now." he stated, smiling mischievously. "You had the goofiest grin on your face."

Jeff smiled and straightened up, stretching his shoulder muscles. "I was just thinking back to when the boys were kids." he explained. "Back to when I cold still pick them up without straining a muscle. And to when I could tuck them into bed at night."

"And when you could feed them, and burp them, and change their diapers." Thomas continued, grinning. "Are you telling me you miss all _that _as well?"

Jeff shrugged. "I dunno. I just miss being able to 'baby' them, I guess. If I tried to do any of that nowadays, I'd get my head bitten off."

Thomas shook his head. "Well, I don't know about you," he began. "But when _I_ was their age, I'd probably have been kinda weirded out if _my_ dad had tried to burp me."

Jeff laughed. "You're hopeless, Tommy-boy."

Thomas feigned shock, opening his mouth slightly and putting his hand to his chest, mouthing _'Moi?'_. He took a deep breath as though to begin a speech in retaliation, but the words died before they had a chance to form on his lips as a red light on the communications panel suddenly began to flash. Jeff pounced on it like a starved cat upon a mouse, pressing the button to accept the call, all thoughts of humour completely forgotten.

"Go ahead, Brains." he stated, his attitude worried, but professional. "Any luck contacting the boys?"

On the main screen, Brains' flushed face smiled as he nodded his head, pushing his glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose. "Yes, Mr. Tracy." he replied. "I was, uh, successful in my attempts to c-c-communicate with the team. A few minutes ago, I managed to establish a comm-link with Virgil."

Jeff sat up a little straighter, hope blossoming within him. "Is he alright?" he demanded. "And the other boys, are they okay?"

Brains held up a hand. "Relax, Mr. Tracy." he smiled. "Virgil, uh, sounds f-f-fine, and he assured me that all the other guys will live. But John was injured when the, uh, m-m-m- door to the science building collapsed in on him during the second earthquake."

"Oh God," Jeff breathed, feeling the colour drain from his face as he sent up a silent prayer. "How bad is it?"

Brains' face grew serious, and he locked eyes with Jeff. "He's been awake a couple of times, but Virgil says he's, uh, quite l-l-lethargic. He's got a pretty bad concussion, by the sound of things."

Jeff nodded his head numbly, trying to push away the images of a damaged Thunderbird 5 that had begun to flash before his mind's eye. "Does he have any other injuries?" he inquired, swallowing to soothe his dry throat.

"A-actually, Virgil was pleased to inform me that John appears to have gotten off lightly this time, all things considering." the scientist replied. "His right arm was, uh, trapped beneath the d-d-d- rubble, but apparently he only sustained bruising and a p-p-possible hairline fracture. Virgil can't say for sure until he's run some more, uh, tests."

Jeff let out a small sigh of relief. A concussion was serious, but it could have been far worse considering the severity of the situation. Looking back up at the screen, he felt a worried frown slide into place once more.

"And what about the other boys?" he asked. "Was anyone else hurt?"

Brains smirked slightly. "Virgil informed me that Scott broke th-th- a few fingers and sliced up his leg pretty badly in the earthquake, but that he - to quote Virgil directly - 'w_as too much of a stubborn ass to stay still'_, and had d-d- gone off to check on one of the survivors when I called. Virgil didn't seem too ha-ha-hap- pleased with Scott at the time."

Jeff managed a small smile, despite his worry for his eldest child. "I bet he didn't." he agreed, knowing that Virgil must have been pretty angry at his older brother to have called him a '_stubborn ass'_ in front of Brains. Jeff made a mental note to have a little discussion with both Virgil _and_ Scott when they arrived back at base.

"What about Alan and Gordon?" Thomas inquired, leaning over Jeff's shoulder so that he could get a better look at the screen.

"From what Virge can gather, they're both f-f-f- unharmed." Brains answered. "In fact, the older three boys are counting on them at this point in time."

Jeff frowned, confused. "What d'you mean, Brains?" he pressed.

The man on the screen took in a deep breath, then let it on in a resigned sigh. "Jeff, I've got s-s- another piece of bad news for you," he began, leaning closer to the screen camera. "Scott, John and Virgil; they're - well - they're a-actually trapped _inside_ the main complex at the moment."

"They're what?!" Jeff gasped, his muscles suddenly tensing as he put both of his hands atop the control panel. "What d'you mean 'trapped'?"

"When the entrance collapsed, it sealed the older three inside the m-m-m- inside the science building." Brains explained carefully. "Since John is in no fit state to just walk outta there, and Scott can barely support his own weight, Gordon and Alan have to find a way _into_ the building in order to rescue them."

Jeff leaned his head in his hands, massaging his temples with the tips of his fingers. "Have they had any luck so far?" he inquired, trying to keep his voice light.

"I think they're g-g-g- making their way into the building as we speak." the scientist stated. "I haven't tried contacting them directly, but my scans indicate that the magnetic field should have weakened enough within the next few minutes to allow us to establish wide-spread communication again."

Jeff sighed softly. "That's a relief." he murmured gratefully, before sitting up a little straighter in his chair. "Thanks Brains. We'll try contacting Alan and Gordon directly from base in a few minutes. We'll call you if there are any further problems. See if you can get frequent updates from the older three; I want to make sure that their situation doesn't get any worse."

"F.A.B." Brains replied, almost snapping to attention. "Thunderbird 5 out."

As the screen went blank, Jeff put his elbows on the edge of the console once more, holding his head in his hands and breathing slowly to calm himself. _The boys are gonna be alright. John's gonna need Virgil's care and a lot of TLC, but the boys will be all too happy to provide it. Scott'll probably need stitches, and I'm gonna have to put my foot down and make sure he takes a break from work when he gets back, but he'll be alright in time. They just need to get out of that building first._

Jeff sighed, lowing his hands and interlocking his fingertips thoughtfully. _Gordon and Alan can handle it on their own, they've always worked great together as a team. Man, for once I'm glad that those two spent years driving me crazy with their pranks. It helped them to form a partnership that even Scott and Virgil can't beat. I've seen Gordon acting professionally before, and can be level-headed enough to rival even the likes of Scott. And despite the way he acts at home, he's a sensible kid. He and Alan can both be as mature as John when they want to be. Man, it even makes me begin to regret grounding them on so many occasions in the past. Huh, who am I kidding? There'd be nothing left standing on Tracy Island if those boys hadn't been confined to there bedrooms at least once a week whilst they were growing up._

"Ooh, the grin's back!" Thomas remarked suddenly, sounding delighted as he stood beside Jeff's shoulder and clapped his friend on the back. "I'll go find a camera."

Looking up at the doctor and raising an eyebrow, Jeff shook his head and smiled. With Thomas Palmar around, things were certainly never boring. Although, Jeff mused, with five energetic and - more often than not - slightly immature sons, things were never exactly 'dull' on the Tracy Island anyway.

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Alan took up the rear of the small rescue party as they trudged slowly through the debris-strewn main corridor, hoisting the bag that contained the laser-cutting gear onto his shoulder as it began to slip off again.

"Careful of the rubble up ahead!" Gordon's voice called from the front of the line. "This pile's pretty deep, and we don't want anybody getting their legs stuck in it, do we? Stick to the walls, where less of the ceiling has caved in. Everybody clear?"

There was a chorus of answers to the affirmative, and Alan suppressed a smile. Gordon was doing remarkably well in his position as 'team leader', especially considering the fact that most of the other men were a good ten or fifteen years older than the copper-haired Tracy. And Greg - well, Greg was old enough to be their father. It was rather amusing to see Gordon taking command of the older rescuer (and the other men) as though they were no more than boy-scouts.

As Alan stepped carefully over to the wall on the other side of the corridor and began to climb onto the pile of debris after Pete - who had been walking only a few steps in front of him - the bag accidentally slipped from his shoulder and landed on the floor behind him. Rolling his eyes and huffing in frustration, Alan turned around and jumped back down onto the floor of the corridor, bending down to lift up the bag once more.

Suddenly, the section of ceiling above him gave an almighty '_creak'_, and Alan's head shot up to where an indent in the floor above seemed to be growing bigger. Cracks ran out from the indent, ending at the point several feet away where the ceiling had caved in. Another loud '_creak' _alerted Alan to what was about to happen, and he instinctively jumped as far as he could to the side as the section of plaster gave way above him, flooding the dimly-lit corridor with dust and debris. Alan hit the floor and rolled, trying to put as much distance between himself and the falling objects as he possibly could. By the time he came to a stop, the corridor had fallen silent again. Well, not for long.

"Is everybody alright?" Gordon's voice yelled worriedly. "What happened?"

"The ceiling gave way right behind us!" Greg called back. "Was anybody caught in it?"

As Alan pushed himself into a sitting position and tested his limbs for damage, he heard Gordon swear loudly.

"Alan!" his brother shouted. "Alan, answer me! Are you alright?!"

Through the murky fogginess of the dust-filled corridor, Alan saw the bright beams of five flashlights turn in his direction. Turning his head away from the blinding glow, he heard the sounds of several pairs of feet clambering over the pile of debris as the other rescuers hurried over to him. Gordon arrived at his side with a loud 'thunk' as he dropped to his knees, releasing his grip on the folded hover-stretcher that he had been carrying, before grabbing hold of both of Alan's arms tightly.

"Al, are you alright?!" he demanded again, he worried green eyes boring into Alan's. Alan nodded mutely, his mind still trying to catch up with his body. Gordon reached up to tap the side of his helmet, switching off the microphone as the other rescuers approached so that they could talk more privately. Alan mirrored his actions numbly, his heart still pounding in his chest from the sudden rush of adrenaline.

"Sprout, talk to me." Gordon ordered firmly, his hands moving down to Alan's forearms and squeezing the bruised flesh unintentionally. The dull burst of pain brought Alan back to reality, and he blinked, pulling away slightly.

"I'm fine, Gords." he replied, somewhat shakily. "I managed to roll out of the way in time."

Gordon's tense muscles relaxed slightly, and he gripped Alan's shoulders instead. "Dammit, kid, don't do that to me." he breathed. "You almost gave me a heart attack!"

The other rescuers had gathered around the two Tracy-sons, worried expressions appearing behind their rescue helmets. "Are you alright?" Greg asked, stepping forward to Gordon's side and peering down at Alan in concern.

Reaching up to tap the side of his helmet, Alan nodded. "Yeah, I'm good." he replied lightly. "I got lucky that time. A few feet closer to that debris pile, and it would've been another story entirely."

Greg nodded, offering Alan a hand up. Alan accepted it gratefully and - with Gordon gripping onto his other arm like a spider monkey - he managed to pull himself to his feet. After a second of slight disorientation at being upright once more, Alan sighed in relief and brushed himself off as best he could.

"Alright, let's go." he suggested, walking over to where he had dropped his equipment bag and slinging it over his shoulder. Gordon turned to face the other rescuers.

"Don't worry, guys, he always bounces back like a rubber ball." he remarked by way of an explanation, bringing forth a chuckle from the other men. In truth, the aquanaut knew that Alan's determination to keep going was actually being fueled by his desperation to see his older siblings as soon as possible. And Gordon could understand what his little brother felt - 'cause darn it, he felt the same way.

As Gordon began to lead the team back towards the pile of debris, he caught onto Alan's arm and pulled him along, tapping the side of his helmet. "You're staying with me from now on," he said firmly. "You're too much trouble for your own good. And I'll take that."

He lifted the bag off Alan's shoulder and swung it over his own, adjusting his hold on the folded hover-stretcher that he carried in his free hand. Alan grinned and rolled his eyes, noting that Gordon was unknowingly channeling both Virgil and Scott with his current actions. It was like having three brothers in one body; which, Alan mused, was _totally_ weird.

"_Base to Gordon, come in please."_

Alan nearly tripped over Gordon as his brother came to a sudden halt in the middle of the corridor. Alan, who had been tuned into Gordon's frequency, had heard his father's voice. But it couldn't possibly be - could it? Weren't the communications still down?

_"This is base calling Gordon Tracy, please respond." _the voice repeated. Gordon seemed to snap out of whatever state of shock he had fallen into, tapping the side of his helmet to accept the call.

"This is Gordon Tracy, reading you loud and clear." the redhead replied. "Dad! Boy is it good to hear your voice."

"Ditto, son." Jeff replied, and both Tracy-boys could hear the relief in his voice. "Gordon, where abouts are you? Is Alan there with you?"

"I'm here, Dad." Alan stated, knowing that his link with Gordon's communicator would automatically connect him to base as well.

"Dad, have you been in contact with the other guys at all?" Gordon asked, signalling for the other rescue workers to go on ahead. "Have you been told what's going?"

"Yes, son." Jeff answered calmly. "Brains contacted me a few minutes ago, and he'd just finished speaking with Virgil. From what he could gather, your brothers are trapped and need your assistance to get out. Correct?"

"Yeah, that sounds about right." Gordon grinned, relaxing slightly. "We're in the main corridor as right now. We should reach the guys in about seven minutes, depending on how many - problems - we run into. Dad, do you know how badly injured they are? There wasn't much time to stop and chat last time we spoke, and we've been out of contact with them ever since because of the electromagnetic interference."

"Gordon, Brains thinks that the interference should now be be minor enough that it doesn't affect the communicators." Jeff stated. "That's why you and I are able to speak to each other right now. Why don't you try contacting your brothers?"

"Good idea." Gordon responded. "I'll call you back as soon as we find them."

"F.A.B.," the older man said, softly. "And good luck."

"Thanks, Dad." Gordon smiled, turning to Alan and giving him a gentle nudge in the direction of the other end of the corridor. "Gordon out."

Gordon grinned as Alan nudged him back, disconnecting the comm-line with a soft _'click'. _They began to walk through the rubble, their bright wrist-lights illuminating the broken objects that had been damaged during both of the earthquakes. Stepping around a fallen beam carefully, Alan glanced over at his older brother.

"Are you gonna call Scott, or Virgil?" he inquired. Gordon looked thoughtful for a moment, his feet crunching on the tiny lumps of plaster on the floor.

"I'll call Virge," he said at last. "After all, Scott'll try to 'micro-manage' everything once he finds out that I'm in charge. Then we'll just end up yelling a each other, and that's not gonna do _anything_ for Johnny's headache."

Alan grinned as Gordon began to punch in Virgil's code on his watch. No, Scott's micro-managing skills would _not_ be appreciated under the present circumstances. But Scott would probably still try his best to do things his way. After all, he took after their father. It was just one of those 'Tracy' things.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

"We're only a couple of minutes away from you guys." Gordon stated, his words sounding like sweet music to Virgil's ears. "Just sit tight."

"F.A.B., Gordo." Virgil smiled wearily, glancing across to the other side of the corridor and giving Scott a thumbs-up. "I'll see you in a few. Virgil out."

Virgil closed his eyes as the call ended, resting his head in his arms as he leaned against the handle-bars of Scott's hover-sled. Man, he was tired. And everything ached. Even his head seemed to be too heavy for his neck to support. The centre of his chest throbbed steadily, his arm was becoming a real pain - quite literally - and his side was _killing _him. Not to mention the fact that the fingers of his left hand had gradually been stiffening since he'd injured himself- however long ago that had happened. He'd inspected the wound for a second time only moments ago and, upon closer examination, knew that it would probably need to be glued. But he might be able to avoid having stitches. He hoped so, because he wanted Tom to be able to focus all of his attention of Scott and John, who were in a far worse shape than he was. Scott's leg was obviously giving him problems, and the pain medication Virgil had injected him with was starting to make the older Tracy-son slightly drowsy. But Scott's drowsiness was still nothing in comparison with John's condition.

Knowing that the last thing he needed to be doing was resting, the young medic oushed himself away from the wall, walking slowly back towards where his brothers were positioned beside the collapsed entrance. He grimaced, his hand going to his right side as a painful twinge began to work it's way up from his hip and towards the centre of his chest. He looked up towards Scott, and was releived to see that his brother had not noticed, as the pilot's full attention was focused on John's still form. Virgil was glad; the last thing he wanted to do was heap even more worry onto his older brother's shoulders. Scott was stressed-out enough as it was.

_Dammit, I hate bruised ribs. These are gonna bother me for a while, by the feel of things. And if I've cracked one of them, which is always a possibility, Tom's probably gonna make me stay in bed for a few days to rest it. Man, I hate being injured. This is the first time that I've ever gotten something worse than a graze on a rescue mission. Well, at least I won't forget it in a hurry - my ribs are gonna make sure of that. Not to mention the fact that I'm gonna be at the brunt of Gordon's jokes for the next month. Great._

Carefully sinking to his knees beside his brothers, he reached out a hand to shake John by the shoulder. The blond had been drifting in and out of consciousness continually, but he appeared to be more and more lucid each time he awoke. Virgil's earlier fears about subcranial pressure had all but dissipated.

"Uhn...Virge?" John slurred, opening his blood-shot eyes and squinting up at his younger brother. Virgil reached over into his med-bad and donned a fresh pair of gloves.

"Hey, Johnny." he greeted softly. "Just making sure you're still with us. I'm just gonna take a peek at that egg on your head, alright? I'll be gentle, I promise. I'm gonna ask you a few questions as well, so I want you to try and answer all of them for me, okay?"

John nodded slowly, then winced, clearly finding this action painful. "Okay." he managed instead.

"What's your full name?" Virgil asked, peeling away the white bandage and studying the injury beneath the gauze pad.

"John Glenn Tracy." the older boy answered, his voice weary but confident.

"Good. How old are you?" Virgil continued, gently probing the bump with his fingers. John hissed in pain and grimaced, and Virgil winced sympathetically. "Sorry, man. Almost done. Now, how old are you, John?"

"M'twenty-two." John replied groggily. "Hah, m'older than you."

Virgil grinned delightedly at John's weak attempt at humour. "Glad to hear it, Johnny." he remarked fondly, lowering the bandage back in place and securing it down with the tape. "What day of the week is it?"

John's expression folded into a confused frown. The seconds of silence ticked by, and Virgil sensed Scott move closer to John's side. John looked up at Virgil with slightly fearful eyes, the frown still tugging at his brow.

"Virge, I - I don't know." he stated softly, sounding weary and frightened. Virgil's heart could have broken at the sound, but instead he cupped John's cheek gently and rubbed the skin with his thumb.

"It's okay, Johnny." he soothed. "You hit your head pretty hard, things are gonna be a bit vague for a little while. But it'll come back to you, don't worry. In a couple of days, all that's gonna be left of your concussion is one helluva headache."

John's eyes began to drift closed again, and Virgil patted his cheek gently. "C'mon, man. You've gotta keep awake for me, 'kay? Don't leave me alone with _this_ stupid ape."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Scott shoot a glare his way, but he pointedly ignored it. He was still rather angry at Scott for going against his orders, even if he _had_ managed to bring Chris back safely. Remembering the scientist, Virgil glanced up to where the young man lay on the hover-stretcher several feet away, his eyes closed and his breathing regular. Virgil frowned worriedly. Chris had lost a large amount of blood from the wound in his thigh, and although he needed to rest, Virgil didn't want him to slip into a deep sleep in case his condition worsened.

Looking up at Scott, his nodded towards John. "Keep him awake. I need to go and talk to Chris." he stated, beginning to push himself to his feet. Another sharp twinge of pain in his side took his breath away, and he paused on one knee, steadying himself with a hand against the floor as he tried to regain control of his breathing patterns.

"Virge?" Scott asked worriedly, one hand gripping Virgil's shoulder as the other went to the small of his brother's back to keep him upright. "What is it, what's wrong?"

Virgil shook his head, inwardly cursing his bruised ribs using every name known to mankind. "It's just a twinge, Scott." he persisted. "I'm fine."

Scott looked into his face, eyes filled with concern and all traces of anger gone. "No," he said softly. "No you're not. Virge, stop trying to 'suck it up'. Look, just stay there a sec. I'll go check on Chris."

"Scott you can barely stand." Virgil protested weakly, although he felt the fight leaving him even as he spoke. He really did feel like crap. "And if you end up falling on your ass, I'm gonna hafta get up and go rescue you. Look, I'm fine. You know from experience what it's like to have bruised ribs. They hurt like hell, but only when you make sudden movements. I'll be fine."

"Virgil," Scott growled. "Shut. Up. I'm not gonna have this argument with you again."

As the older Tracy staggered to his feet, Virgil looked on with a slightly guilty expression. He hated himself for having gotten injured, especially when so many people were relying on him. That was one of the reasons why he wasn't going to allow himself to take anything stronger than ibuprofen before they arrived back at base. But once his brothers were safely in Thomas' hands, he'd do whatever the older doctor wanted him to do. Just as long as he was allowed to _sleep._

He saw Scott hobble unsteadily over to he stretcher, before slowly lowering himself down towards the scientist and reaching out to tap Chris' face gently. Virgil was relieved to notice that the younger man's eyes snapped open almost immediately.

"Virge?"

At the sound of his older brother's weary voice, Virgil lowered his gaze to where John was staring up at him through heavy-lidded eyes. Dropping a hand down from his lap and running it gently through the blond hair, Virgil leaned in closer to John's face.

"Yeah, Johnny?" he murmured, locking eyes with the older man as he studied the pupils, noting with satisfaction that they seemed a little less unfocused than they had been earlier on that same evening.

"You okay?" the astronaut inquired softly, his eyes becoming worried as he groggily peered up at Virgil's face. Virgil smiled slightly. Trust John to notice that he was out of sorts, even when he himself was sporting a bad concussion and a whopper of a headache.

"I'm fine, John." Virgil lied, feeling his arm throb almost as though it were protesting his statement. "I'm just tired, that's all."

John sighed wearily, closing his eyes again. "Yeah. Me too." he whispered. "Virge...wanna go to sleep."

"I know, buddy." the younger man replied sympathetically, wishing more than ever that they were back at home so that he could allow John to sleep to his heart's content - well, except for the hourly neuro checks he's perform for the first twelve hours, of course.

"Arm hurts." John mumbled, wincing as he shifted slightly in his position on the hard floor. Virgil reached out with his free hand and gently ran it over the bruised limb, hating himself for not being able to soothe his brother any further. But he could not run the risk of giving John any pain meds - at least not until he'd run a full CT scan to determine the severity of the head injury. If the drugs forced John's body into even a light stage of unconsciousness when his brain had sustained serious damage, it would cause the subcranial swelling to increase. And that was a risk that no medic would take, especially not Virgil. And especially not when it was his brother who was the injured party. Had John sustained any other grevious bodily hurts, Virgil may have given him something for the pain. But with his arm having been damaged only superficially, it just wasn't worth the risk.

"Chris is stable, Virge. He's okay for now." Scott stated, returning to Virgil's side and carefully dropping to his knees beside him, before moving to sit down with his injured leg straightened out alongside John's body.

"That's good." Virgil remarked absently, his attention focused on John's face as he tapped his brother's cheek to wake him up once more.

He suddenly felt Scott's hand pressing against his side, sending sharp needles of pain into his chest, and he let out a soft grunt, automatically pulling away. However, Scott's left hand held him still as his right hand tenderly probed Virgil's ribcage, and Virgil knew better than to try and move away again. Scott was checking for breaks himself, and nothing was going to stop him from doing so. In many ways, Scott could channel Virgil's 'Virge the Surge' traits when he had the need and desire to do so.

Virgil gritted his teeth, trying to keep his gaze focused on John as he pretended not to mind the examination. But, however gentle Scott's fingers were as they brushed lightly over his side, each touch was like that of a red-hot poker, sending a deep, burning pain through his skin and right down to his bones. Despite his best efforts, he couldn't help but gasp slightly in agony as Scott touched a particularly delicate spot.

"Sorry." Scott apologised softly, moving his hand up to Virgil's shoulder and squeezing it gently. "I just wanted to see for myself. You're right, they don't feel broken. But judging by your reaction, they're badly bruised. And I'm not ruling out the possibility of a few of them being cracked. When the guys get here with the rescue team, I want them to carry you out with John, alright?"

Virgil turned to frown at Scott. "Scott, I can still walk. And besides, one of us needs to take the hover-sled."

Scott shook his head. "We can get agent fourteen to keep the 'sleds in storage at his base until we have a chance to pick them up."

Virgil raised an eyebrow. "You know all the agents by their numbers?" he inquired lightly. Scott shrugged, his hand still resting gently on Virgil's shoulder.

"No, I just remember that our main Australian agent in agent fourteen, and that he happens to have a rather powerful military position." he replied, resting his other hand on John's chest. "He'll take care of whatever we can't manage. Don't worry about it."

Virgil nodded silently, feeling his resistance crumble. He really didn't feel up to walking anywhere. As long as they got back to Thunderbird 2, and home to Tracy Island, he didn't honestly care what happened to him in between.

Suddenly, in the distance, voices could be heard, breaking through the otherwise silent darkness of the corridor. Virgil felt a smile blossom over his face, and he gently nudged Scott with his elbow.

"Hey Scooter," he said calmly. "Sounds like the kids have arrived."

As the bright glow of several flashlights suddenly illuminated the collapsed entrance, Virgil sighed in relief. His body was weary and sore, and he was worried about both of his older siblings - but one thing brought the light of hope into their otherwise gloomy situation;

They could finally go home.

* * *

**_So the older boys have finally been found. Jeff has been informed of their situation, and he's not 'totally' freaking out. So all's good, right? However, how are our invalids coping with all of this? John's becoming more and more lucid, but Scott and Virgil seem to be losing their strength. And are Virgil's injuries going to continue to cause him trouble during the flight home? Find out next time!_**

**_Okay, all finished for this evening. I'm glad I managed to post this chapter before Christmas. Thanks for bullying me into posting, CC! Lol, luv ya._**

**TAKE NOTE: I have been persuaded to post a one-shot that I wrote for myself a year or so ago - way, way back before I discovered fanfiction. It's kinda got a Christmas theme to it, so I'll probably put it up on Christmas Eve. It needs some tweaking before I'll be satisfied, but hopefully it'll be okay. It's just a random Christmas drabble I wrote about the Tracy's as young kids, before Lucille died. So, if that takes your fancy, feel free to read it!**

**_Don't know when the next update of this story will be, but obviously not before Christmas. With a family as big as mine, I like to forget about other things for a few days. Besides, my siblings and I have a Monopoly tournament scheduled for Christmas evening, and it always spills out onto the next evening as well. So next update? Maybe Sunday. We'll just have to wait and see, won't we? Thanks for reading. PLEASE REVIEW, as your comments will be wonderful Christmas presents!_**

**_Wishing you all a wonderful Christmas (again),_**

**_God Bless,_**

**_Little Miss Bump xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox_**


	17. Chapter 17: Homeward Bound

**_Hiya!_**

**_I hope everybody has enjoyed Christmas! I certainly have. And guess what? My last dance show is tomorrow evening, so I'll be able to post more frequent updates from now on. It should be back to the standard two chapters a week after today._**

**_Thanks for all the great reviews, and also a big thanks to those who reviewed my one-shot. I'm sorry if I wasn't able to get back to everybody, but I've kinda been preoccupied with Christmas. I'll try and reply to your reviews as soon as possible. Cross my heart!_**

**_Okey-dokey, chapter seventeen awaits! Let us begin..._**

* * *

Alan held the scanner up in front of him, his eyes glued to the heat signatures that were appearing on the small screen, growing stronger with every step he took across the debris-strewn floor. According to his readings, they were less than thirty feet away from the life-signs. Alan's heart bagan to beat faster within his chest. They were nearly there!

Alan quickened his pace, rounding the corner of the corridor swiftly. He sensed Gordon hurrying along behind him, accompanied by the other rescue workers, but he didn't bother to acknowledge their presence. His gaze was fixed on the other end of the corridor, where the light from numerous portable lamps illuminated the figures of his three eldest brothers. He felt a relieved smile break out across his face, and his shoulders sagged slightly. He had found them at last.

Without waiting for another second to pass, Alan jogged the short distance over to his siblings, being careful not to trip on the rubble that littered the corridor. He made a beeline for John, who lay on the floor closest to the collapsed entrance, dropping to his knees heavily and gazing at the older blond-haired Tracy worriedly. John blinked back at him, confusion lining his features as he tried to comprehend the sudden appearance of his youngest brother.

"Sprout?" he slurred wearily, the oxygen mask muffling his words. Alan gave another smile, relieved that John was lucid enough to recognise him, if nothing more.

"Hey, John." he greeted, keeping his voice low and gentle. "What did you do to yourself this time?"

"M'fine." the older Tracy replied groggily, wincing as he tried to move slightly. Alan felt another pang of worry begin to rise in his chest, but tried to keep the frown from sliding onto his face, instead reaching out to run a gloved hand over John's ruffled hair.

"Of course you are, John." he murmured, laying his other hand on John's shoulder. "Never doubted it for a second."

"You get more and more like Virge every day, you know that?"

Alan's head shot up at the sound of his eldest brother's soft voice. Scott had come to sit awkwardly beside him on the floor, one of his pant legs cut open to the knee, revealing a blood-stained white bandage covering the whole of the calf, shin and ankle. His cobalt-blue eyes were shining with warmth and pride through his visor as he gazed steadily at his younger brother. He put his hands on Alan's shoulders and squeezed the uninjured one firmly, putting as much affection as he could into the gesture. Alan understood. Although his brother clearly wanted to wrap him up in a bear hug - in typical Scott fashion - they were still being watched by the local rescue workers, and such a level of contact would just open the gates to unwanted questions. Besides, Alan knew that Scott would give him that hug the moment they were safe inside the Thunderbird vehicles. And, for once, Alan wouldn't even care about his brother treating him like a kid. There had been a point, not so long ago, when he had wondered whether or not he would ever be able to experience Scott's mother-hen habits again. And darn it, the mere thought of such an occurrence had been hard enough to bear. Yes, Alan honestly wouldn't mind being fussed over by his big brother once they'd gotten out of the collapsed building and the accident scene had been closed down.

"Sprout?"

Alan blinked, snapping out of his own thoughts and looking up again. He noticed that Scott's visor was only inches away from his own, Scott's worried gaze piercing through the fibre-glass like a laser beam. The field commander rubbed Alan's upper-arm gently, the concern radiating off of him in waves.

"Are you okay?" he asked, eyeing Alan's ripped and dirty uniform. "You look like crap."

Alan smiled, rolling his eyes. Trust Scott to flap over him when _he_ was the one with the sliced-up leg and broken fingers.

"I'm fine." the teenager stated calmly. "You're the one I should be worrying about."

Scott shook his head, waving his uninjured hand in the air and brushing away Alan's comment. "Nah, don't worry about me." he replied, keeping one hand on Alan's shoulder as he glanced down at the astronaut beside him. "Johnny's a lot worse off than I am."

Alan nodded mutely, his gaze shifting over to where Virgil had been sitting only moments ago. However, the young medic was no longer there. Frowning, Alan looked around the corridor, smiling as he spotted Virgil a few metres away. The middle-Tracy was standing in front of Gordon, his hands on the aquanaut's shoulders as he looked him up and down, searching for injuries. Beside Alan, Scott noticed what had caught his attention, and let out a frustrated groan, tapping the side of his helmet and connecting his communicator to Virgil's private channel. Alan also tapped his helmet, wanting to know what had Scott so tightly wound.

"Virgil!" the pilot called, sternly. "I thought I told you to stay put? You shouldn't be walking around, you're hurt."

Virgil turned towards Scott, his eyes cold as he fixed the older man with a firm glare. "Well, didn't _I _tell _you_ to stay put earlier on? And you didn't listen to me. Besides, I'm not doing anything particularly tiring. I'm standing up. Quit worrying."

Alan looked in between his siblings, an eyebrow raised. "Okay, what's going on between you two?" he asked, his concern for both men increasing tenfold. "Virge, what's Scott talking about? You never mentioned anything about _you_ being hurt."

Virgil's gaze softened as it fell on Alan, and he began to walk towards him. Although, Alan noticed grimly, his movements were slow and more than a little stiff. Virgil carefully knelt down on the patch of clear floor beside Alan, reaching out to clap him on the shoulder affectionately.

"I'm fine, kiddo." he stated reassuringly. "Just bruised a couple of ribs, that's all."

Alan winced sympathetically. Having bruised three ribs himself during the incident in the Bank of London at Spring break, he was well aware of how painful it was to try and move around afterwards. No wonder Virgil had been walking so stiffly.

"It's more than a couple, Virge." Scott mumbled darkly. It was then that Alan realised Scott's mood was being fueled primarily by worry, not by anger. That explained a lot. When Scott was concerned over somebody's health, his own version of 'Virge the Surge' kicked into overdrive. And up against Virgil's own stubborn personality - well, it was no real surprise that the two of them had come to butt heads. If both Scott _and_ Virgil were hurt, it was a mother-hen accident waiting to happen.

"Guys, we need to make a move." Gordon stated, coming to stand directly behind the three brothers who knelt upon the floor. "Two of the rescuers have taken Chris, and they're gonna carry him back out of here the same way we came in. Greg and Pete are gonna take John, since they aren't used to handling the hover-stretchers. But Alan and I can manage one each. So I'll take Scott, and Alan'll take Virgil. Alright, any questions?"

Alan grinned at Scott's expression. The now ex-field commander blinked in surprise at the confidence and authority that radiated from Gordon's slight form. And Alan had to agree with what Scott was obviously thinking. Oh yes, Gordon was good at this.

"Hey Gords, if I strap Virgil to the stretcher on the back of the hover-sled, I'll be able to drive it outta here." Alan suggested, standing to his feet and turning to face his copper-haired sibling. "It'll be one less piece of equipment for the agent to worry about."

Gordon nodded his head in agreement. "Good thinking, Al. Okay, let's get to it."

Tapping the side of his helmet, Gordon spun around on the spot to face the two remaining rescue workers who stood a few feet away, waiting for the Thunderbird team members to finish their discussion.

"Greg, Pete," he began calmly. "We need you to take one of our injured colleagues outta here, okay? He's got a severe concussion, from what we can tell, but the rest of his injuries are relatively minor. As long as you keep an eye on him and make sure his condition isn't deteriorating, it should be perfectly safe to move him."

Both men nodded in understanding, stepping forwards with the hover-stretcher and coming to crouch down beside Scott, Virgil and John. As they prepared themselves to transfer John onto the stretcher, Virgil leaned over his older brother's body, cupping his cheek gently and gazing into the slightly fearful blue orbs.

"John, we're gonna put you on the stretcher now." he explained softly. "We'll be as gentle as we can, but it still might hurt your head a little bit. So I need you to close your eyes and count to thirty for me, okay?"

John gave a small nod, wincing at the movement, and Virgil brushed his thumb over the cheekbone tenderly.

"Okay, then. Just hold still." Turning to the rest of the team, he gave a thumbs-up, signalling that John was ready to be moved. With the Tracy boys' help, the local rescuers managed to carefully slide the stretcher beneath John's body, although their actions were accompanied by several pained grunts from John.

"Sorry, Johnny." Scott murmured, leaning over the stretcher as he fastened the straps across his brother's legs and chest. "It's okay. We're finished now."

John blinked up at Scott wearily, a pained grimace tugging at his brow. "Scott," he croaked. "Wanna....wanna go home."

Scott closed his eyes briefly, trying to ignore the note of desperation in John's voice, and wishing there was more he could do for his younger sibling. What John really needed was to be safe in the infirmary back on the island, not strapped to a stretcher in the middle of a collapsed building. However much Scott hated to admit it, there were times when being a Thunderbird _really_ sucked.

"We'll get back to base real soon, okay?" Scott soothed, running the fingers of his right hand through John's ruffled hair. "And then you can sleep all you want. But right now, we need to get you outta here. So you just hang on 'til we get back to Thunderbird 2, alright?"

John winced again, but his nod was a little more confident this time around. "Okay." he whispered.

Virgil, who had been watching John's reactions carefully, sighed in relief when he noticed that John was beginning to calm down. The last thing they wanted to do was transport him out of the building in a state of panic. Especially since he would be going with Greg and Pete, and not with family members. Virgil hardened his resolve to make sure that he remained close enough to John's stretcher to offer his assistance should the older Tracy become distressed.

Scott activated the hover-boosters on the stretcher, gesturing for Greg and Pete to take control of it so that they could get John out of the building as quickly as possible. The two rescuers took hold of either end of the stretcher, carefully guiding it up off the floor. Virgil stood up alongside it, trying his best not to grimace as he ribs protested the movement. He was relieved to see that John didn't appear to be finding the experience too uncomfortable. Reaching out, he made sure that John's oxygen mask was still secure, running his fingers along the tube and down to the canister that had been strapped to the side of the stretcher. Everything appeared to be as it should be, and the oxygen gage showed that the tank was still over half full. Satisfied that all was in order, Virgil stepped back, allowing Gordon to step forward and take control once more.

"Greg, Pete; if you start to head back the way we came in, we'll follow right behind you." he stated, reaching out to squeeze John's shoulder as he spoke. "The sooner we get our guys outta here and back to our base, the better."

Greg nodded his head, adjusting his grip on the front handles of the hover-stretcher. "Agreed," he said. "We'll go at a steady pace; I still don't trust the stability of this building. It seems ready to come down at any minute."

As the two local rescuers began to walk away, Alan brushed some of the dust of his sleeves and gave a short laugh.

"Yeah, I guess I found that out the hard way." he remarked jokingly. Virgil shot him a confused look, and Alan shrugged slightly. "The ceiling in the back corridor decided to cave in without warning." he explained. "Only problem was, I happened to be standing underneath it at the time."

Virgil's eyes widened in worry, and he awkwardly rushed over to Alan's side, wincing slightly at his swift movements. "Darn it, Sprout, why didn't you say so?" he demanded furiously.

"Virge, don't sweat it." Gordon sighed, moving over to a clear area of corridor so that he could unfold the hover-stretcher he had been carrying. "I've already checked him over for injuries. Shockingly, the kid didn't hurt himself this time."

Alan frowned in his brother's direction. "Hey! What d'you mean 'this time'?"

"I mean that you're accident prone." Gordon replied casually, locking the clamps on the stretcher and beckoning for Scott to approach him. "Duh!"

Alan shook his head, the frown still on his face. "Just wait until we get home." he grumbled darkly, but the corners of his mouth were twitching. He knew that Gordon was only teasing him, and it felt good to have relaxed into their usual light-hearted ways.

Gordon let out a snort of laughter, glad that his younger brother was returning to his old self. He reached over to tug Scott closer to him, before standing up to unfasten the straps that secured Scott's oxygen tank to his back. Scott frowned, confusion lining his features.

"Gordon, what _are_ you doing?" he inquired, as Gordon slipped the straps from his shoulder and lifted the pack off his back.

"I'm removing your oxygen pack, Scooter. Unless, of course, you wanna lie down on the stretcher with _this _digging into your back?" Gordon joked lightly, indicating the tank in his hands. Scott's weary eyes laughed merrily, and Gordon grinned behind his mask. As long as Scott was confident that he had everything under control, he _hopefully_ wouldn't be too difficult a patient to handle.

Virgil stood close by, watching as Gordon and Alan helped Scott to lower himself down onto the stretcher. He wanted to make sure that Scott was safely underway before allowing himself to be taken care of. After all, Scott could be _very_ stubborn at times. And, knowing his eldest brother as well as he did, Virgil knew that he was probably the only one besides their Dad who could make Scott do something against his will.

_Oh, except Onaha. Man, that woman has a whole bucket of determination. But she's great. I don't know what we'd do without her. Live off Dad's cooking, I guess. Not that Dad's a bad cook or anything, he's pretty good actually. I guess you taught him well, huh, Mom? I have to admit, his macaroni cheese isn't half bad. It's even better than John's, which is certainly saying something. But still, it's not a patch on Onaha's. She's a genius. Plus she makes awesome cookies. Man, what I'd give for a cookie right now..._

"Virgil!"

Virgil snapped back to reality with a small jump, blinking the fuzziness out of his vision. Alan and Gordon stood in front of him, both wearing concerned frowns as they gazed at him steadily.

"What?" he asked, wondering what had them looking so worried.

"Virge, are you alright?" Alan inquired softly, peering into Virgil's face intently. "You didn't hit your head or anything during the earthquake, did you?"

"What's wrong with Virgil?" Scott demanded, trying to twist around in his position of the hover-sled a few feet away. However, the straps across his chest and legs prevented him from moving. The two younger Tracy's ignored him, instead focusing their attention on Virgil.

"Guys, I'm fine." the field medic sighed. "I've bruised a couple of ribs, mildly lacerated my arm, and I feel like a giant bruised peach. But I didn't hit my head, I promise."

"Then what made you faze out like that?" Gordon pressed, moving his hand up so that he squeezed Virgil's left shoulder gently. Virgil was singularly relieved that his brother had not chosen to place his hand any lower, as the pain in his arm had only just begun to recede to a dull throb.

"Hello?! Will somebody _please_ tell me what's going on!" Scott shouted, huffing in frustration as his attempts to move on the stretcher failed miserably.

Virgil smirked, putting his hand on top of Gordon's and giving it a reassuring pat before moving away slightly. "I was thinking about cookies." he stated, loud enough for Scott to hear.

"Cookies?" Alan asked incredulously, raising an eyebrow and clearly wondering whether or not Virgil was still in his right mind. He glanced across at Gordon, who seemed to be wearing an identical expression upon his face.

"Cookies?!" Scott repeated, confusion lining his voice. "Virgil, what the heck are you on about?"

Virgil shook his head, reaching out to turn Gordon around and push him in the direction on Scott's stretcher.

"Get moving, fish-feet." he ordered lightly. "The hard parts over now, you've managed to get old grumpy tied down on the stretcher. All you need to do now is ignore him, and you'll be able to get him outta here quick enough."

Gordon grinned behind his mask, giving a half-hearted salute and bending down to fire up the hover-boosters on the stretcher. Guiding it up in the air so that it hovered at waist-height above the ground, he began to pull it carefully down the corridor.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hey!" Scott protested, shooting Virgil an incredulous look. "Virgil Grissom Tracy, this is _not_ what we agreed! You're supposed to be on one of these things too."

"He will be." Alan replied, stepping up to Virgil's side and getting hold of his uninjured arm. "Don't worry about that. He's just making sure that you cooperate, aren't ya, Virge?"

Virgil smiled and nodded. "The freak's right, Scott." he stated. "I know what you're like. I wanted to be available in case you decided to be a difficult patient. Now hurry up, Gordon. I want you to catch up with Greg and Pete so that you can keep an eye on John. In his concussed state, there's a chance that he'll either panic, or unknowingly give away International Rescue secrets. It's probably best if you're on standby to intervene if either situation arises."

"F.A.B." Gordon replied lightly, walking around the hover-stretcher so that he was at the end nearest to Scott's head. Pushing forwards, he steered the sled around the corner of the corridor, raising a hand in the air so as to wave to his remaining siblings. "Laters!"

Virgil sighed wearily, feeling his energy reserves ebb away. What he really wanted was a bath. A nice, long, hot bath to soothe his aches and pains. He usually preferred taking showers, because they were faster an more efficient when it came to washing in the morning. However, the very idea of standing up for an extended period of time was already beginning to make Virgil's legs ache. Oh boy, he needed to sit down.

Suddenly, he became aware of the fact that his younger brother was staring at him steadily. Turning his head to the side, he raised an eyebrow at Alan's incredulous expression.

"What?" he asked lightly, beginning to move over to where the hover-sled sat on the other side of the corridor. Alan followed him, matching his slow pace and putting a hand on the small of his back as though to steady him.

"The freak?" he inquired flatly. Virgil turned to look at him again.

"Pardon?"

"A few minutes ago, when I said something to Scott, you agreed with my comment by saying '_the freak's right'_." Alan explained, his tone slightly accusing. "What exactly did you mean by that?"

Virgil laughed, but stopped and grimaced when the muscles in his side throbbed painfully. Instead, he reached out to pat Alan on the back, leaning against the side of the hover-sled as he tried to rest his sore ribcage.

"I was referring to the fact that you somehow managed to read my mind." he stated, resisting the urge to rub at his side to soothe the pain. "It _is_ kinda freaky, Sprout."

Alan rolled his eyes and shook his head, leading Virgil to the back of the hover-sled and bending down to make sure that the stretcher was attached firmly in place. Satisfied, he straightened up and stepped back, indicating for Virgil to sit down. Virgil did so, sighing wearily as the weight was taken off his annoyingly-weak legs. He suddenly felt very tired, like he wanted to stay in that position forever. Heck, Alan could even leave without him if he wanted to. For the first time in a long while, he was comfortable.

Alan reached forward and began to unfasten the straps around Virgil's chest, frowning worriedly when his older brother didn't even move in response to his actions. Virgil's eyes were closed, his face relaxed almost as though he were sleeping.

"Tired?" Alan asked softly, carefully easing one of the straps off of Virgil's right shoulder. His brother's eyes opened, blinking wearily back at Alan, and Virgil nodded his head ever so slightly.

"Yeah, just a bit." he murmured, still trying to blink the fuzziness out of his vision. "It's been a long rescue. It's well past midnight."

"It's nearing two o'clock now." Alan added, glancing down a his watch. "Man, Dad's gonna freak. It's way past my bedtime."

Virgil grinned at Alan's light humour. His younger brother was usually made to be in bed by midnight during the holidays, but rescue missions were exempt from that rule._ After all, we could hardly stop halfway through a mission and announce, "Sorry, we have to go home now. Our youngest operative needs to be in bed by twelve." Although, it would certainly be interesting to see the public reaction to this statement. Huh, an organisation with a curfew. Whatever next?_

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Virgil fixed his eldest brother with a piercing frown.

"No. Absolutely not."

Scott glared at Virgil moodily from where he sat on one of the beds in the sickbay of Thunderbird 2, his legs hanging over the side of the mattress as his used his hands to support himself on either side. Virgil glared right back at him from his position at the end of the bed, his face hard and resolute.

"Virgil, I'm not gonna man the controls." Scott reasoned, a hint of whine in his voice. "I'm just gonna be copilot. Where's the harm in that?"

Virgil sighed heavily, looking up towards the ceiling and counting backwards from ten under his breath – in French. He'd always found that this calmed him down when Scott was being particularly stubborn. It was a trick that John had taught him as a child, and he'd used it ever since. And, unsurprisingly, it was used on a regular basis. Lowering his gaze again, his temper back under control, he stared at Scott steadily.

"Scott, you're staying put and that's final." Virgil stated firmly, hearing footsteps coming up the corridor as he spoke. "The drugs are gonna be making you more and more drowsy as time goes on, and I need to keep an eye on you just to make sure that everything's as it should be. You're not gonna move your butt from that bed until we reach base, you got it?"

"What's going on?"

Virgil turned to look over towards the door, smiling as his two younger siblings entered the room. Each teenager held their helmet under one arm, the other arm hanging around each other's shoulders casually. Alan was glancing between his two arguing brothers, a questioning expression upon his face. Gordon removed his arm from around him and clapped the young blond on the back, grinning from ear to ear.

"Can't you tell, Sprout?" he asked lightly. "The old folk are at it again. That's a good sign, right? They can't be injured all that badly if they're squabbling like a couple of pregnant women."

Virgil smiled wearily, raising an eyebrow. "And just how many pregnant women have you come across, Gordo?" he inquired, chuckling softly as Gordon tapped the side of his nose in a secretive manner. Leaning heavily against the side of Scott's bed, he turned to focus his attention solely on the two younger Tracy's. "Did you manage to close down the danger zone?"

Gordon nodded, his face becoming serious once more. "The local rescuers have assured us that all personnel are now accounted for." he stated, running a hand through his hair and smiling in relief. "There are over forty recorded injuries, seven of which are serious, but there have been no fatalities reported so far. I've called Dad, and he's gonna contact agent fourteen so that he can secure the hover-sleds in storage. The next time we head back this way from a rescue, Dad says we can pick'em up from the military base."

"Hey Alan," Scott said suddenly, a small smile gracing his features. "C'mere, Sprout."

Alan grinned, stepping up to the bedside and allowing Scott to place both hands on his shoulders. The eldest Tracy son looked at the youngest for a long moment, pride and warmth shining in his eyes. Then pulled Alan in for a one-armed hug, using his other hand to ruffle the teenager's hair gently.

"You did good today, kiddo." he murmured. "Real good. So did you, Gordo." he added, turning to look at his copper-haired brother. "You both came through for us when we needed you. And Gordon, you handled everything like a pro. Dad's gonna be as proud as a peacock when he hears about this."

Alan and Gordon grinned, the younger boy blushing slightly. Gordon, as always, took the praise in his stride, flashing Scott a winning smile.

"Hey Scooter, I won the bet." he remarked, smirking. "D'you remember last week when I changed the air-con in your room, and you bet me fifty bucks that I'd never be able to act maturely for more than an hour straight? Well guess what; I did. Hah! You owe me fifty bucks."

Scott sighed, shaking his head as Alan stepped back, laughing. "Okay, I admit it, you won this time." he murmured. Gordon's mouth fell open, and he gaped at his eldest brother in shock.

"Oh my gosh, what's wrong with you?!" he demanded worriedly, although his eyes sparkled with amusement. "Did you hit your head? Did you forget the fact that you're Scott-the-man-who-never-admits-defeat Tracy? Virge, I think you need to take a closer look at him, he's not actin' right."

Virgil smiled over at brother from where he now stood beside John's bed, his fingers gently brushing through his brother's hair. He felt a lot calmer now that they had returned to his 'bird, especially since his sickbay contained more advanced and reliable equipment. He already had John hooked up to several diagnostic monitors, and had been relieved to discover that his earlier diagnosis was correct. John's condition was stable, and there didn't appear to be any subcranial bleeding. Everything was okay – at least for the time being.

"Alrighty, Alan and I are gonna get going." Gordon stated, clapping his brother on the shoulder again. Virgil glanced up in time to see Scott begin to push himself off the bed.

"Scott Carpenter Tracy," he growled, his eyes flashing dangerously. "Move another inch and you'll live to regret it!"

Scott shot him a _'I'm in charge, don't tell me what to_ _do_' kind of look, his eyes just as hard as Virgil's. He did, however, still his movements momentarily.

"Virge, Alan needs a copilot, he can't fly Thunderbird 1 on his own!" he protested. Out of the corner of his eye, Virgil saw Alan's face cloud over angrily.

"Scott, I'm perfectly capable of flying your damn ship." he argued, crossing his arms over his chest as he shot his older brother a hard glare.

"Alan, watch your language." Scott warned, shooting a glare right back at him. "It's been a long rescue, alright? Your reflexes won't be as good as they normally are. You need a copilot."

"Scott, my reflexes are perfectly fine." Alan answered, having regained control of his temper. "Yours, on the other hand, are terrible right now. Virge told me on the way here that he gave you a dose of senillapan. You're not fit for anything right now, Scott, let alone co-piloting a vehicle like Thunderbird 1."

"But Al, I need to help you-" Scott began.

"No, you don't need to help me do anything." Alan replied firmly, adopting a calm but stern tone of voice. "What _you_ need to do is let Virgil take care of you. You're hurt, I'm not. So for once in your life, just sit down and shut up, alright?"

All three older – and conscious – Tracy sons turned to gape at the youngest team member in surprise. Alan was known for channeling Virgil on occasions, but this – this was going to a whole new level. He had actually told Scott to _'shut up'_. And Scott had actually done so!

Alan himself was looking rather surprised at his sudden outburst. He sent Virgil a sheepish glance, two light-pink spots appearing on his cheeks, and fiddled with the hem of his sleeve. Virgil smiled at him gratefully, knowing that Scott wouldn't dare to board Thunderbird 1 after that outburst. He wouldn't want to risk angering his little brother any further, which would perhaps lead to an unfortunate accident if he were piloting the fast aircraft at the same time.

"So," Gordon said suddenly, breaking the silence. "I guess we'll be off, then. Virge, you okay to handle things down here?"

Virgil nodded, hiding yet another grimace as he straightened up. "I'll be fine, Gords. But will _you_ be okay handling my 'bird on your own?"

Gordon grinned, moving towards the door with Alan. "Don't worry, Virge, I'll take good care of your baby. And I'll try not to miss the runway when we land."

Virgil smiled, shaking his head as the doors to the sickbay slid closed behind them. It felt good to be joking with his brothers again. And yes, it certainly did feel good to be out of that dark building and back inside the familiar surroundings of Thunderbird 2. Back inside his ship. His big, gorgeous, green baby. She hummed softly around him, the soothing melodious buzz of the generators forming a symphony with the low percussion of the power converters as they thrummed softly in the background. His 'bird made her own sweet music, and it was calming to hear the gentle sounds once more. It felt as though he had finally returned home after a long vacation away from the island. Everything felt comfortable and secure, just how he knew it should be.

"Virge?"

Virgil glanced down, smiling widely when he saw John's ocean-blue eyes gazing back up at him. He was grateful that he no longer had to wear the rescue helmet, as John could now see the whole of his face. He knew that concussions usually caused a good deal of confusion, and John would no doubt be soothed to see a familiar smile.

"Hey, Johnny." he murmured, resuming his gentle strokes as he ran his fingers through John's hair. "How ya feelin'?"

John grimaced, his eyes screwing shut once more. "Virge," he croaked. "Feel......feel sick."

Noticing the slightly grey tinge to his brother's face, Virgil reached over to the side quickly and grabbed a cardboard basin from the open supply cupboard, ignoring the sharp dagger of pain that scraped down his left arm and through his chest. Returning to the bedside, he set the basin down, putting a hand on John's shoulder and another one on his hip, and carefully rolling him onto his side. And not a moment too soon.

John vomited into the basin violently, his body shuddering weakly with the force of the spasms, his eyes screwed shut against the pain. Virgil winced sympathetically. If John's head had been sore before, it was nothing compared to what it would be feeling like right now. It was official; a concussion was the one injury where Virgil felt completely powerless. Medically, there was nothing he could do to ease the symptoms, at least not until he'd run further scans. It wasn't like a laceration or a broken bone, where he could bandage, stitch and numb the wound. All he could do was offer his comfort and reassurance, and above all else keep an eye on John's condition.

When the dry heaves had ceased, Virgil carefully rolled John over onto his back, leaving his bedside long enough to drop the basin into the waste-incinerator on the wall and press the button to activate the machine. Grabbing a cloth from the supply cupboard, he gently wiped John's mouth, using his thumb to brush away the tears that had leaked from the older man's watering eyes. He detected movement beside him, and turned his head slightly so that he could glance at his eldest sibling.

"I thought I told you to stay in bed." he remarked quietly, although with no real anger in his voice. He couldn't blame Scott for having come over to check on John. It was obvious that he was just as worried about the astronaut as Virgil was.

"Is he alright?" Scott asked, reaching out to run a hand gently over John's arm. Virgil nodded mutely, trying to get his breathing back under control.

_Dammit, I shouldn't have moved so fast. My arm is killing me. Man, I need to sit down before I fall down. I never knew bruised ribs could be so annoying. It's weird to think that today marked the first time that I've ever been carried on a stretcher. That's kinda odd, considering my line of work. I treat so many injured people, including my own brothers, but I never seem to get hurt myself. Even today, when the ceiling was collapsing right on top of me, I escaped with only a few bruised ribs. It could've been a whole lot worse. I could be dead right now if-_

"Virgil!"

Virgil jumped slightly, blinking as he was snapped back into reality. Scott's hands were on his shoulders, and his older brother was staring at him worriedly, his brow creased with concern.

"What?" Virgil asked, getting the distinct feeling that he'd been in this same situation before

One of Scott's hands moved up to the side of his neck, the thumb pressing lightly against Virgil's pulse. "You didn't answer my question." he stated softly. "You were miles away."

Virgil forced another smile onto his face, pushing away Scott's hands. "I was just thinking about cookies." he replied lightly, remembering the response he had used earlier.

Scott frowned in his direction as Virgil began to lead him back over to the other bed. "What is it with you and cookies?"

Shrugging, the younger man patted the bed with one hand, indicating for Scott to sit back down again. "Dunno. Just hungry, I guess." he grinned. Scott returned his smile, although his eyes still shone with concern.

"Virge, maybe you should sit down for a bit." he suggested, studying his brother's face. "You look kinda pale."

"I'm just tired." Virgil assured him, ignoring the voice in the back of his head that screamed _'Liar!_'. "Now lie down, Scooter."

_"Command deck to sickbay, come in please."_

Virgil walked over to the comm-panel on the wall besides the door, pressing the button to activate the communicator. "This is sickbay. Go ahead, Gordon."

"Virge, I'm about to take her up." Gordon replied, his voice sounding slightly tinny over the channel. "Are you guys strapped in?"

"Give us thirty seconds, Gordo." Virgil instructed, gently pushing Scott back down onto the bed. "One of my patients is being a pain in the butt."

Scott shot him a hurt look, but there was a smile tugging at his mouth. Virgil returned the smile warmly, fastening the straps across his brother's chest and legs, before moving to sit in his usual seat next to the bed where John lay. Although there was room for a number of stretchers to be placed within the sickbay, there were only four beds in the spacious room. John's bed was the one reserved for the casualty who had the most severe injuries out of all the victims, as Virgil would then be able to monitor his condition during takeoff without having to move from his seat. And although John was stable, Virgil still wanted to keep an eye on him. He had already secured his blond-haired brother to the bed when they had fist entered the sickbay, so they were finally ready to leave Callingiri's carbon-syrilium fuel refinery. Virgil hoped that they wouldn't have to return to this particular are anytime soon. This hadn't exactly been the easiest of rescue missions.

Virgil hissed in pain as he reached behind him for the safety straps, clutching at his arm and grimacing. _Why do I keep doing that? It's just making the cut worse. And my fingers are still stiff, which is gonna be a problem later on when I try and stitch up Scott's leg. Hmm, I think I'm gonna have to let Tom do most of the work this time. I don't want to risk hurting Scott. I wonder what's making them so stiff? I guess I must've pulled a muscle when I fell. Man, that's gonna smart in the morning. Well, I guess everything's gonna smart in the morning. Especially my ribs. Oh boy, I'm not looking forward to that. But at least I'll be able to take pain meds at home. I can't risk taking anything strong right now, in case John begins to deteriorate. I need to be able to focus with a clear mind, and pain meds always knock me out straight away. I guess it's 'cause I don't often have to take them. In fact, I haven't needed medical treatment since I burned my hand in Figi last Christmas._

Securing the safety straps across his chest, and making sure that they were as loose as possible, Virgil raised his wrist-watch to his face and keyed in the code to Gordon's communicator.

"Alright, Gordon. We're all set." he stated, wincing as his arm began to ache from being held in such a position. "Take her up."

"F.A.B." Gordon replied, and Virgil heard the engines of his 'bird roar into life. There was a rumbling vibration, and Virgil closed his eyes, picturing his green beauty ascending slowly upwards, the legs retracting into the underbelly of the aircraft. Then the pitch of the thrumming noise changed as the thrusters kicked into action, and Virgil knew that Gordon had leveled her off and increased speed to maximum. That was good. He'd be home in less than an hour.

His watch beeped, and Virgil opened his eyes, pressing the button on the top of the screen to activate the speaker. "Virgil here." he responded.

"Virge, our ETA is forty-eight minutes, give or take a few seconds." Gordon stated casually. "We've leveled off now, so it's safe to unstrap yourselves. I'll call again when we're approaching the island. Keep me informed if there's any change in John's condition, won't you?"

"Will do, Gordo." Virgil murmured, rubbing a hand over his face and sighing. "Virgil out."

Sitting back agains the chair and letting out a weary sigh, Virgil allowed his eyes to close again. He felt the stress begin to ebb away slowly as his muscles relaxed and the adrenaline ceased to pump around his body at such a fast pace. Man, he was tired. No, scrap that; he was _exhausted_. But despite the constant pain in his side, and the sharp throbbing of his left arm, Virgil found that he still had a reason to smile;

His soft, warm bed awaited him.

* * *

**_In the next chapter, Virgil finds his condition worsening. Will his brothers notice before it's too late? And what exactly is ailing our dear little medic? Will Thomas be able to figure it out in time? Find out in the next installment!_**

**_Okay, so I had decided to leave on a cliffhanger. But then I thought - Nah! I'm not in a mean mood. And trust me, the cliffie I had planned was 'very' mean. But that dosn't necessarily mean that I won't have another cliffie in the future. You know me, I have an evil side. Lol._**

**_I hope you enjoyed reading the chapter. PLEASE REVIEW with all your concrit and questions and - if you must - protestations over the way I treat our poot Tracy boys. But hey, it's fanfiction. Who doesn't hurt the boys from time to time (or all the time?). Hee hee._**

**_The next chapter should be up on Wednesday. See you then!_**


	18. Chap 18: There's A Danger In The Shadows

**_Hiya peoples! (yes, 'peoples' is definitely I real word - at least it is in my dictionary!)_**

**_I'm back again with the next chapter, just as I promised I would be. First of all, big sorries to all those who I didn't reply to, I've actually been away quite a lot this week visiting friends and relatives. Plus relatives have also been over at my house, and it's kinda rude to ignore them when I only see them once every six moths. Also, sorry that this is a little bit later than I first promised. A load of my friends from my dance group decided to throw a party together at the last minute, so we all invaded my friend's house and went hyper on Sprite and Fanta (yeah, no alcohol whatsoever, aren't you impressed?) But I'm here at last with the next chapter!_**

**_I know you're all dying to find out what I'm going to do to Virgil, so I won't waffle too much today. Just want to extend my thanks to all those who reviewed my last chapter, and to those who also submitted reviews for my one-shot. Thanks, everybody, your support and encouragement was very much appreciated. Also big thanks goes to 't-d' for the typo pointer. That was my fault. Cheers, m'dears!_**

**_Oh, and I decided to be mean after all. This chapter ends on a horrible cliffie. Ha ha ha!_**

**_Now, on with the show...._**

* * *

Alan's hands were sweating inside his gloves as he held onto the controls with an iron grip. He didn't mind flying Thunderbird vehicles in the slightest, it was the _landing _thereof that gave him grief. Landing Thunderbird 1 was no easy task. There were dozens of readings he had to check constantly, hundreds of small numbers skittering across his diagnostic screen as he cut the engines and applied the landing thrusters, slowly decreasing their strength as he allowed the mighty aircraft to descend through the large whole where the pool had been situated only minutes before.

Time seemed to drag by at an agonisingly slow rate, causing Alan's heart beat to sound heavy and loud in his ears. His muscles tense, he waited with clenched teeth for the clamps to lock into place. After what seemed lack an eternity of silence, there were a series of dull '_clangs'_as the metal supports attached themselves to the vehicle. Alan could feel the vibrations through the plating of the cockpit as they ran up his legs and arms, signalling that he had landed in one piece. Letting out the breath that he had been holding, the teenager reached up to shut down the mian systems, flopping back in his chair and sighing in relief.

In front of him, the comm-panel suddenly burst into life, revealing the face of his smiling father. Alan grinned in return, offering the Tracy patriarch a weary and half-hearted salute.

"Hey Dad," he murmured. "I'm home."

Jeff's smile widened. "Perfect landing, Alan. Great job." he stated, his voice full of pride. "Alright, son, run the primary post-flight checks, and then get yourself up here. Your old man is in dire need of a hug."

Alan smirked, sitting up a little straighter as he began to run diagnostic checks on the navigational systems. "F.A.B, Dad." he replied cheekily. "See you in a few."

The screen went blank for a second, before being replaced by a table of temperature readings. Alan glanced over them quickly, not noticing anything out of the ordinary, before reaching up above his head to flick a series of switches.

_I'll just open up the vents on the main engines and let everything cool off for a while. It's better to be safe than sorry. The last thing we want is the back thruster panels auto-igniting due to excessive heat. It'll damage the craft, and cause a heck of a lot of trouble for us. Not to mention the fact that Scott'll eat me alive if I hurt his 'baby'. And that isn't a risk that I'm willing to take right now. At least not until I've confirmed my insurance details._

Smiling at the randomness of his own thoughts, Alan shook his head, pulling off his gloves and run a hand through his hair. It had been a long night. According to his watch, it was already nearing quarter to three. That meant that he had been out on the rescue for nearly seven hours. Man, no wonder he was tired.

The post-flight checks completed, Alan stood to his feet, brushing off as much dust as he could into the cockpit. It was already dirty enough, anyway. It would need a thorough clean before the next rescue missions occurred; which, Alan hoped, would not be for at least a few days. Right now, he didn't have the energy to do anything except sleep.

_Oh, and eat. I could definitely eat. I think I'll just grab a sandwich before I go to bed, once all the guys have settled down in the infirmary. Knowing Virgil, he's gonna want to keep Scott in there overnight just to 'keep John company'. And Scott's gonna kick up a major fuss. But at least Tom's there, he'll be able to smooth thing out. Although, Virge really didn't look too good himself when I last saw him. Good thing his room's so close to the infirmary, that way Tom can keep an eye on all three of them without too much effort._

Punching in the code to release the hatch, Alan stepped out onto the walkway, his feet clanking along the metal plates as he strode towards the door. Unable to resist the temptation, he walked to the edge of the walkway and put his hands on the rail, leaning over and peering down into the semi-darkness below. The massive body of Thunderbird 1 hissed as the steam was released from the hot engines, the warm air wafting upwards into Alan face. Sighing, Alan pulled away again, turning back towards the door and walking over to the access panel. The small metallic buttons felt cool under his warm fingers as he typed in the code, and a second later the door slid open, revealing the back corridor of the service tunnel. Rubbing a hand wearily over his face, he stepped up to the passenger lift beside Scott's portrait. Although Scott would forgive him for getting dirt in the cockpit of Thunderbird 1 – after all, that was practically an unavoidable occurrence – he would probably be less pleased if Alan used his lift and sprinkled plaster dust all over that, too. No, it was safer to use the passenger lift. Call it self-preservation.

As the lift doors slid closed behind him, Alan put a hand on the rail that was attached around the side of the metal walls. Pressing the button that would take him directly to his father's office, he rested his arm against the wall, leaning his head upon the limb and closing his weary eyes. He hoped that he could grab a shower before his older brothers returned, as it would probably help to wake him up a little. The last thing he wanted to do was fall asleep before he had a chance to check on his injured siblings.

The lift slowed to a halt, and there was a soft '_hiss' _as the lock on the door was released, the two metals screens sliding open in opposite directions and revealing the spacious command and control centre. The familiar computer screens and control panels formed a circular structure on the raised platform in the centre of the room, glinting in the bright glow of the overhead lights. Alan sighed. It was good to be home.

"Alan!"

Alan had barely taken two steps out of the lift before his father was out of the command chair and hurrying around the side of his control desk. The older Tracy grinned at him, reaching out to pull him into a firm bear-hug, despite the fact that he was covered in plaster dust and dirt from the rescue zone. Alan smiled as he returned his father's embrace, feeling all his worries about his brothers begin to ebb away as he stood safe in his Dad's arms once again.

"Welcome back, son." Jeff murmured, rubbing Alan on the back before releasing him and holding him at arm's length. His sharp blue-grey eyes scanned over Alan's body hastily, searching for injuries. Alan suppressed a groan. He should have known that he'd be subjected to his father's standard little 'check-up'. Being as accident-prone as he was, Alan rarely completed a rescue _without_ being injured in some way, and consequently it seemed that almost every member of his family would check him over for injuries once he had returned home.

_At least Virgil's gonna be preoccupied with fussing over the other guys. Maybe he'll forget to give me a once-over this time. Well, we can all live in hope._

"Hey, kiddo!"

Alan looked up, smiling as he spotted Thomas Palmar striding towards him, Fermat and Tin-Tin in tow. The doctor reached out to ruffle Alan's hair, before glancing down at his ripped and dirtied uniform and raising an eyebrow.

"Alan, the aim of going on a rescue is _not_ to come back looking as though you've been dragged along behind the Firefly for several kilometres." he remarked, grinning slyly. "Honestly, you really haven't changed since you were five, have you?"

Alan grinned in return, shaking his head. "Nope. Not one bit."

"Yeah, I'd ha-have to agree with you there." Fermat stated, coming up to his best friend's side and smirking at him triumphantly. Alan rolled his eyes, before touching fists with the younger teenager and smiling.

"Everything cool, Ferm?" he inquired lightly.

"Cool as a paranoid cucumber." the bespectacled teenager replied with a knowing smile.

Alan clapped Fermat on the back, understanding the message. Although Fermat was calm enough at the moment, the mention of the word 'paranoid' implied that he had been worried about Alan's welfare during the rescue. Well, to be completely honest, Alan himself had been rather concerned about his welfare at several points during the mission. But everything was 'cool' now. He was home, he was safe, he wasn't injured and – and Tin-Tin's hair sure was looking lovely this evening.

"Okay, Al, go hit the shower." Jeff instructed fondly, patting his son on the back once more as he glanced down at his watch. "Your brothers don't get back for another nine minutes, so that should give you enough time to change. And try not to _completely_ trash your room in the process, alright?"

Alan smiled. "Can't make any promises," he said cheekily, waving to Tin-Tin before turning around and heading towards the door. As he was about to leave, he heard his father address his two best friends.

"Fermat, Tin-Tin - bedtime." the older man stated, gently but firmly. Alan grinned, pausing in the hallway just outside the office door. Jeff had always treated the younger two teenagers as his nephew and niece, and consequently they were often subjected to his more fatherly side.

"But -" Fermat began, before Jeff held up a hand to silence him, shaking his head and smiling.

"It's nearly three o'clock," the eldest Tracy said, turning the teenager around and giving him a gentle shove towards the door. "Your dad won't be pleased if I let you stay up any longer. The boys are gonna be fine, Fermat. You can see them in the morning, alright?"

Fermat sighed, smiling slightly. "I guess." he murmured. "G'night, sir. 'Night, Tom!"

Both men smiled. "G'night, Fermat." they answered in unison.

As Alan watched from around the side of the door, Fermat turned and headed towards him, with Tin-Tin hobbling along behind him as she bid goodnight to Jeff and Thomas. Tapping his foot impatiently, Alan waited until Fermat was close enough to grab, before pulling him into the hallway and slapping him on the back.

"Never mind, Ferm." he grinned, as the younger teenager shoved him back playfully. "In a few more years, you and I will be too old for Dad to send us to bed."

Fermat raised an eyebrow, pushing his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose and grinning. "You wanna bet on that?"

Chuckling, Alan shook his head. "Nah, I'll pass." he replied, heading down the stairs quickly. When he reached the bottom, he spun round and glanced back at Fermat, who sighed in frustration and tapped his watch.

"Alan, get a move on." he instructed in a tone of long-suffering. "You've only got s-s-six minutes until the other guys get back, and you still need to sh-sh-sh- change outta your uniform. I'll see you tomorrow."

Alan smiled, saluting to his friend as he broke into a jog. "Sure thing. 'Night!" he yelled over his shoulder, before rounding the corner of the corridor and breaking into a run. He suddenly felt full of energy again, which was a great improvement on how he had felt as he stepped out of Thunderbird 1. But he knew for a fact that this adrenaline-boost would be short lived, and that he would soon need to his the sack and recharge his batteries – so to speak. However, he was grateful for the boost, as it would mean that he might just be able to stay awake long enough to check over his brothers when they arrived back.

_But first things first; I **really** need a shower._

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_"Gordon to sickbay, please respond!"_

Virgil jolted awake painfully at the sound of his brother's voice, lifting his head off his arms and giving a small gasp of pain as his chest burned. He blinked, frowning as he shook his head from side to side and stood up, his stiff joints and muscles protesting his every movement. He glanced down at the bed he had been leaning against, running his eyes quickly over John's body, before glancing up at the diagnostic panels. All seemed to be in order.

Wincing, he put a hand to his aching side and closed his eyes. _Man, I feel like crap. My chest feels like there's a block of lead in there. My ribs must be causing a certain degree of swelling, which is tightening the skin across my midriff and making my chest feel tighter. Well, that's to be expected. Whatever it was that hit me in the side earlier on sure was heavy. I hope I haven't cracked any ribs, otherwise Tom's probably gonna want to make me stay overnight in the infirmary to monitor for any problems. But if they're only badly bruised, a warm bath and a week of light rest should see me right as rain again in no time._

_"Virge, are you even there? Do you read me?"_

Virgil rubbed a hand over his face as he stumbled wearily across the room and over to the comm-link by the door. As he pressed the button to receive the call, he glanced across at where Scott lay sleeping on one of the beds a few feet away. _Huh, I guess the drugs finally knocked him out, then._

"This is sickbay responding." he said, trying to make his voice light and casual. "Sorry, Gords, I was a little preoccupied with one of my patients."

He was surprised at how easily the lie came to his lips, but did not dwell on the thought. As long as Gordon believed him, nothing else really mattered. There was a relieved sigh over the comm-line, before a voice replied;

"Took ya long enough, Virge. Is everything alright down there?"

Virgil leaned against the wall, aching from head to toe. "Everything's just fine." he replied, still forcing his voice to sound light-hearted and calm. "I was checking over the diagnostic readings, that's all. Don't worry, the guys are still alive."

"That's good to hear." Gordon chuckled, and Virgil could sense that his younger sibling had been put more at ease by his comments. "Anyway, I was just calling to inform you that we're approaching the island. I'll be ready to take her down as soon as you're ready."

Virgil nodded, pushing himself away from the wall with a small grunt. "F.A.B." he responded, reaching up with his right hand end the transmission. "I'll call when we're all strapped in."

"Understood." Gordon replied, before the line was cut and silence once again reigned in the infirmary. Virgil let out a long sigh, wincing at the pain in his ribs, and reaching up to rub at his temples wearily.

Walking slowly across the sickbay, his feet '_clunking'_ softly on the floor, he came to a halt beside Scott's bed and reached out to take hold of the safety straps that were attached to the bar on the other side. He soon discovered that his left arm was still acting up, the fingers even stiffer than they had been before. The simple act of clenching his fist proved to be near impossible, and his brow creased in confusion.

_Dammit, what's wrong with my hand. All I did was scratch my arm. And it wasn't even all that deep. It can't possibly have been deep enough to cause muscle or nerve damage. I guess I must've really twisted something when I fell, huh? Probably pulled my lascoric muscle. That would explain why it's so difficult to clench my hand into a fist. I'll need to let Tom have a look at that, just to make sure that I haven't pulled a nerve or something._

He clumsily secured the straps across Scott's chest and legs, pausing long enough to lean against the side of the bed and smile down at the sleeping form of his older brother. Scott really did look so young in his sleep. His tanned face had softened completely, from his brow all the way down to his mouth. It was funny, actually, to see how much he looked like Gordon as he slept. They had the same forehead, Virgil noticed. Strange, the things you picked up on at times such as this.

Letting out another sigh, Virgil turned around and forced his weary legs to plod back over to his chair beside John's bed. Virgil was glad that he had not bothered to unstrap John earlier on, as he arms felt as though they had lost all their strength in one go. He just about had enough energy to drop back down into his chair and pull the straps slowly across his own shoulders and chest. Buckling himself in securely, he winced as he realised that he had made the straps too tight. However, he couldn't be bothered to unclasp them. With a great deal of effort, his raised his left arm and typed Gordon's code into his watch.

"Sickbay to command deck, come in." he called, gritting his teeth as his arm pulsed and throbbed.

"Gordon here," the voice said immediately. "You ready to land?"

"Yup." Virgil grunted out. "Take her down."

"F.A.B." the younger Tracy replied, and Virgil heard the line cut out again. Sighing in relief, he allowed his head to fall back against his chair, breathing heavily as he relaxed his tensed muscles. It was surprising just how strenuous it was to perform the smallest of movements when you were physically drained.

With his eyes closed, he found that his hearing became more sensitive. He listened sleepily as the thrumming of the engines decreased an octave, signalling that Gordon had lowered the engine output and decreased their speed. He began to count backwards slowly from one-hundred, knowing that by the time he reached 'zero', they would have touched down on Thunderbird 2's runway.

And in his opinion, the sooner they arrived on the island, the better.

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Gordon smiled as he eased Thunderbird 2 onto the runway, touching down with a low '_thud'_ that echoed throughout the giant aircraft, sending slight vibrations up through the controls and into Gordon's hands.

"Oh yeah," Gordon said proudly, smirking to himself. "I rule."

He carefully steered the massive vehicle into it's silo within the rock-face, easing her forwards and allowing the metal clamps to lock on, maneuvering the green beauty up onto the low metal ramp that lead up to the rotation plates. These thick titanium plates were designed so that they could rotate Thunderbird 2 and allow the aircraft to face the entrance to the silo once more, ready for the next rescue mission. Once he'd positioned her, it would simply be a matter of minutes before he could shut everything off and head down to the sickbay.

As he came to a full stop, he reached out and flicked open the coolent vents. _Just need to run the basic post-flight checks, then I can go help Virgil with the guys. Huh, I bet that Scott's gonna be a difficult patient. Again._

Suddenly, Gordon's watch began to flash, and a voice rang out in his ear-piece.

_"Nice landing, Gords. So, Virge isn't gonna kill ya this time for hurting his precious greenfly?"_

Gordon grinned, pulling off his gloves and beginning to unbuckle himself from the chair. "Hey, Sprout." he greeted lightly. "Miss me?"

"In your dreams, fish-feet." Alan replied, and Gordon could hear the smile in his voice. Shaking his head, the aquanaut stood up and headed over to the other side of the control deck, bending over slightly to examine the readings on the screens and panels in front of him. _Everything seems alright. I'll just let this baby cool off and- Aw dammit...did I just call this hunk of junk 'baby'?! Yuk!_

"Where's Dad?" Gordon inquired, shaking his head and moving away from the diagnostic panels, striding back over to the command chair so that he could lock down the main systems. "Don't tell me Tom was actually forced to sedate him this time?"

Alan laughed softly, and Gordon grinned in triumph. He loved making his brothers laugh.

"No, he and Tom are in the elevator at the moment." Alan stated. "They're heading down to Two's silo with a couple of hover-stretchers for the guys. You're supposed to meet them in the sickbay."

"Oh am I?" Gordon challenged in mock-outrage. "Well who made you the boss of me, huh?"

"Dad did." Alan replied smugly, playing along. "Now hurry up and get your butt down to sickbay, before I'm forced to do something drastic. I'll be down there in a minute."

"Yes _sir_," Gordon said sarcastically, emphasising the word and smirking. "Will that be all?"

"For now." Alan answered lightly. "Alan out."

As the transmission cut, Gordon grinned, rolling his eyes and bending down to retrieve the glove that he had dropped on the floor beside the command chair. Straightening up, he held up his right hand in front of his face, frowning at the long cut that ran from his knuckle to the top of his wrist. _I forgot I had that. Huh, shows how high my pain threshold is after the hydrofoil accident. I doubt I'd feel anything even if my whole hand fell off. Ah well, what doesn't kill you only makes you stronger; I'm living proof of that._

As he began to walk towards the door, he fingered his ripped glove and sighed. He was forever ripping _some_ part of his uniform. It was a good thing that their father ordered everything in bulk. With the amount of uniforms they managed to go through a year, they'd have to perform rescues in jeans and shirts if they didn't have several hundred spare outfits stored away in one of the supply rooms.

Making his way out of the command deck and down the corridor, he ran a hand through his hair wearily. It had been a long rescue. Gordon didn't often find himself running out of energy after rescues, but he had to admit that his battery was pretty much running on empty at the moment. He supposed this was because the mission had been both physically _and _emotionally challenging. He'd never been forced to take control so suddenly before, and under the circumstances it had been a rather stressful experience. That, plus the fact that three of his brothers had been trapped for hours inside a collapsing building, had worn out the copper-haired teenager. However much he hated to say it, he was actually feeling pretty tired. Once his older brothers were settled and had been taken care of, he'd sleep for the next twelve hours without a second thought.

Thinking of his older siblings brought a frown to John's face. He wasn't overly concerned about Scott, since it appeared that all his eldest brother required was a whole bunch of stitches and some restraints to keep him in the infirmary overnight. John's condition was worrying, but Gordon knew that he was in safe hands under Tom's care. After all, the guys was practically their uncle. He'd cut off his own leg if one of the Tracy-sons needed it. Not to mention he was one of the funniest guys Gordon had ever had the pleasure of knowing.

No, it wasn't his two eldest brothers that were making Gordon feel nervous. It was his middle brother. Virgil had never been injured before, at least not whilst out on a mission. Sure, he'd once sustained a scratch that had needed six stitches and a dab of skin glue to seal the gash, but he'd never been seriously hurt before. Ever. And despite Virgil's statements to the contrary, Gordon knew that his brother was hiding something. Virgil had acquired a certain talent when it came to keeping things from the rest of the family. Gordon supposed that after so many years of perfecting his bedside manner, one learned to keep certain facts to oneself about a patient's well-being. But that posed a number of problems whenever Virgil was upset or angry about something. He tended to stew it over in his own head, before taking it out on his piano or canvas. The only one he ever confided in was Scott, and such an occurance was still a rarety on Tracy Island. Virgil was simply a more private individual when it came to his emotions.

Sighing and shaking his head, Gordon quickened his pace as he strode down the corridor towards the sickbay. He was intent upon making sure that Virgil would be given a thorough check-over by Thomas once they had gotten Scott and John settled in the infirmary. Only after that would he be able to get to sleep. Pausing momentarily, Gordon pulled a face and shook his head.

_Man, I've gotta stop doing this whole 'Scott' thing, it's creeping me out. Seriously._

Shuddering slightly, Gordon began to walk again, adamantly rejecting the idea that he would _ever_ grow up. After all, what was life without a bit of fun?

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The moment he heard the engines power down, Virgil opened his eyes, blinking the fuzziness out of his vision for what felt like the hundredth time that evening. Reaching up with his right hand, he fumbled to unclasp the safety straps from across his chest. They were definitely too tight. They were making it difficult for him to breathe. Standing up shakily, he cursed his weak legs, gripping onto the edge of John's bed with his good hand. Shivers ran up his arms, and he closed his eyes again, breathing heavily.

_Damn these blasted ribs. I'm not gonna be of much use to Tom later on, I can barely stand up. I'm so tired. It doesn't help that I was up late last night, checking over some reports that Brains had sent down from Thunderbird 5 about the modifications for Two. I need sleep, that's all. Sleep, a couple of codine tablets, a hot water bottle - but most of all, sleep. Mmm, sleep sounds so good. So does that hot water bottle, actually. It works wonders on bruised ribs, or so Alan told me when I gave him one last Spring break. I'll be willing to give anything a try at the moment, just as long as they'll stop hurting like a-_

"Virge?"

Virgil's head snapped down to where his older blond brother was gazing at him groggily. Pasting a smile onto his face, Virgil reached out and ran a hand through John's hair, the familiar action bringing some warmth back into his limbs.

"Hey man," he said softly, reaching into his pocket and clumsily extracting a pen-light with the stiff fingers of his left hand. "How are ya feelin'?"

"M'okay." John slurred, wincing as Virgil flashed the small light in his eyes. "M'head hurts."

"Yeah, I bet it does." Virgil agreed, setting the penlight down and beginning to unclasp the safety straps that were secured over John's chest. "Can you tell me where you are?"

John blinked round at the room dazedly, his brow furrowing slightly beneath the white bandage on his forehead. "Sickbay?" he questioned hesitantly. Virgil managed another small smile.

"Uh-huh. Gordon's just landed Thunderbird 2." he stated, gently rubbing John's uninjured arm. "We'll get you out of the sickbay and into the infirmary real soon, okay?"

John closed his eyes, sighing wearily. "We...home?" he questioned, his voice a low murmur.

"Yeah, John, we're home." Virgil replied, the words finally sinking in for him as well. At last, they were back on the island. No more dodging falling debris, no more lying to his brothers about how much pain his was in; he was home, and everything was going to be alright now.

_The first thing I'm gonna to is make sure that I run a full brain-scan, just to make sure that his concussion hasn't escalated into anything more severe. Once I've got that off my mind, maybe I won't be so stressed. And I'll be able to sleep better knowing that he's definitely in a stable condition. Scott's gonna need to have that laceration stitched, but I'll let Tom handle that. As long as he stays in the infirmary overnight so that I can monitor him for a build-up of pressure in his calf, everything should be fine. I'll just put them both on the diagnostic alert so that the alarms will wake me up if anything's wrong with them. _

_And besides, knowing Tom he won't go to bed at all this evening, he'll just stay up and watch over the guys. He hardly ever needs sleep. He says his body has adapted to staying awake for ridiculously long hours after being a doctor for so long. I guess the same can be said for quite a lot of doctors. Dad's the same, actually. He can go ages without needing sleep. But I guess that's just because he's raised five sons. I doubt he got an awful lot of sleep when I was first born, since John was still a toddler and Scott was a rather moody four-year-old whenever he was woken up in the middle of the night; or so I've been told. Poor Dad. It's a miracle he still wanted more kids after us three. But I think things got better as Scott and John grew up. By the time Alan was born, only Gordon kicked up a fuss at night. Well, not much changes. Gordo still tries to get Dad's attention, he just does it subconsciously through his pranks. That kid's never gonna grow up, no matter what Dad says._

Suddenly, Virgil felt a hand on his shoulder, and he jumped slightly, glancing sideways and blinking the fogginess out of his vision. His father's concerned face was inches away from his own, the worry smouldering in his blue-grey eyes. Virgil blinked again. _When did Dad get here?_

"Virgil, are yo okay?" Jeff asked worriedly, resting a hand against the side of Virgil's neck. "You were miles away there. You didn't even hear me when I called you."

Virgil plastered another smile onto his face. "I'm just tired, Dad." he stated. "It's been a long night."

Jeff nodded, his face relaxing slightly as he moved his hand from Virgil's shoulder and clapped his son on the back warmly. Hot tendrils of pain shot through the young medic's chest, causing him to suck in a sharp and startled breath. Putting out a hand, he caught himself as he stumbled forward against John's bed, grunting as his arm throbbed mercilessly.

"Virgil, what's wrong?" Jeff demanded, concern lining his voice as he placed his hand back on his son's shoulder. Virgil glanced up at him and gave another weak smile - although in truh, it looked more like a grimace - and waved away his Dad's concerns.

"I bruised a couple of ribs during the earthquake." he explained breathlessly, putting a hand to his side and wincing as his chest tightened. "They kinda smart a little."

Jeff nodded sympathetically, his eyes still searching Virgil's face "I bet they do." he agreed, rubbing the spot between his shoulder blades gently. "You look pale, son. Why don't you let us handle the beds, you just stand by and watch, okay? I don't want you to lift anything heavy if you're hurt."

Virgil nodded, relieved that his Dad understood his predicament. Standing to the side slightly, he allowed Jeff to step up to the top-end of the bed. The Tracy patriarch's worried frown fell back into it's usual place as he leaned over John's body and gently smoothed the hair down.

"How is he?" he asked softly, running his fingers lightly over the white bandage. Virgil swallowed to moisten his dry throat, cursing himself for his fatigue as he tried to catch his breath. He reached up to switch off the diagnostic machines, before turning back towards his father and sighing softly.

"His blood-ox levels could be better, but his other vital signs look good." he replied. "From the scans I've run so far, things look normal enough. As long as their isn't any subcranial swelling, he condition should continue to improve over the next twelve hours. But it _was_ a pretty hard knock. He's gonna be out of action for a couple of weeks, just to be on the safe side."

Jeff nodded in agreement, sighing sadly as he gazed down at his second-eldest son. Then he straightened up and turned around on the spot as the door to the sickbay '_swished'_ open and Gordon strode into the room.

"Evenin', all!" he exclaimed cheerfully, although Virgil could tell that he was worried. Gordon had a good poker face, but his bright green eyes always belied the tone of his voice when something was not quite right. And right now, they shone with the concern he felt for his older brothers.

"Gordon," Jeff greeted warmly, leaving John's bedside as he strode across the room and put his hands on Gordon's arms. "You alright?"

Gordon nodded, smiling. "Never better." he stated. "I'm just glad to see that Tom didn't have to sedate you."

Thomas laughed softly, and Virgil nearly jumped out of his skin once more. He hadn't even noticed the older doctor, who had been standing silently at Scott's bedside, running a hand-held scanner over the sleeping man. Thomas shook his head, rolling his eyes at Gordon's comment as he switched off the scanner and placed in back down on the small trolley that was fixed to the floor beside the bed.

"Believe me, there were times when I was sorely tempted to take out the old tranquilisor gun." he joked, powering up the hover-stretcher that lay on the floor beside him so that it rose off the ground. "But all in all, you're Dad did a pretty good job of keeping himself sane this evening. And he only drank seven cups of coffee."

Despite his hazy state, Virgil was still in his right mind. Turning to frown at his father, he raised an eyebrow. "Seven?"

Jeff smiled sheepishly. "In my defence, I though it was three."

"You always think it's three." Thomas mumbled, and Gordon snorted softly.

"Dad, you do know that you're probably still trying to work off all the coffee you drank when we were kids, don't you? This is just adding to the store you've already got in your bloodstream."

Jeff sighed in exasperation, shaking his head slowly as he drummed his fingers on the bed. After a moment of silence, he glanced back up again, looking between his two conscious sons.

"That's it?" he asked mildly. "You done with the lectures already?"

Gordon shrugged. "For now."

"Good," the older man said, clapping his hands together. "Let's get the boys up to the infirmary, then. Gordon, you and I will take John up first, and Tom will follow with Scott. Virgil, you stay here until Alan arrives, okay? He should be here any minute, he was just closing down command and control for me. I want you to let him escort you up into the house, alright? Bruised ribs aren't a lot of fun, and I don't want you to over-strain yourself, understood?"

Virgil nodded mutely, suddenly feeling as though the infirmary was too cramped. The air was hot and humid, burning agains his skin, and the noises seemed to echo before they reached his ears. Even his own rapid breathing sounded too loud in the heavy atmosphere. He watched in a daze as Jeff, Gordon and Thomas swiftly transferred his two patients onto the stretchers, blinking mightily as his eyes began to slide shut again. Why was he so darn tired? He'd never felt like this before. Perhaps he was coming down with something.

"Virgil?"

Virgil glanced up to see Thomas standing in front of him, his calm features creasing slightly as he gazed at Virgil's pale face. The doctor put his hands on Virgil's shoulders and pushed him down into the chair at the bedside, pausing long enough to pat him on the back ever so gently.

"Virge, I want you to stay here until I get back, okay?" he stated softly. "You're father and I have agreed that Alan's probably too tired to handle the stretcher on his own, so I'll come back down and help him bring you up once I've dropped Scott off at the infirmary. Just stay sitting down for me, alright?"

Virgil nodded again, blinking in surprise as he noticed that Gordon and Jeff had already departed with John. Thomas straightened up and smiled at him softly.

"Well, at least I get to look after you for once." he remarked. "The last time I gave you medical treatment was - let me think - twelve years ago? You sprained your ankle falling into that pothole, remember?"

Virgil nodded again, managing a weak smile. Thomas' eyes narrowed in concern at the lack of a verbal response, and he crouched back down again.

"Virge, did you hit your head at all?" he inquired slowly. "You're not your usual self."

Virgil closed his eyes briefly against the exhaustion that threatened to wash over him. "I'm just tired." he stated, forcing his breathing patterns to slow. "And my ribs are killin' me."

Thomas nodded sympathetically and stood up again. "Then I'd better hurry up and drop Scot off upstairs so that I can get an x-ray of your ribs as soon as possible." the doctor stated. "You might've cracked a couple. If so, you know that I'm gonna want you to stay in the infirmary overnight, right?"

Virgil frowned, shaking his head. "There are only two beds." he stated. "And I want Scott and John to be monitored throughout the night."

"We can wheel another bed in there, there's plenty of room." Thomas smiled, reaching down to ruffle Virgil's hair. "You can't escape from me that easily, Virge. Now shush. You stay here and rest, and I'll be back in a few minutes."

As the doctor departed and the doors '_swished'_ closed, Virgil released the harsh breath he's been holding, leaning forwards and putting his arms on his knees. He didn't understand why he was still so breathless. After all, he wasn't all _that_ unfit. Quite the opposite, in fact. He and was nearly as fit as Scott, other than the fact that he was physically several inches shorter than his older brother. But in brute strength, he could beat Scott in a sparring match any day, much to his brother's annoyance. He might be small, but his muscles were more compact.

Virgil found that, instead of gradually getting better, his breathing was becoming slightly worse. Frowning, he tried to sit up straight in the hope that this would alleviate some of the strain off his chest. It did not help in the slightest. If anything, his chest seemed to grow even tighter, forcing him to suck in short, laboured breaths. His heart began to hammer within his chest as he felt sweat break out on his forehead. Something was wrong.

Standing shakily to his feet, he bent over at the waist and leaned on the edge of the bed the bed, his arms supporting him as he adopted the position which he knew would take the most strain off his lungs. He was beginning to feel light-headed, and his foggy mind was racing to work out what was wrong with him. Was he having a panic attack? It sure felt like it. With his heart thudding at a phenomenal rate, and he breaths coming out in short, squeaky gasps, this was the most logical diagnosis, unless-

Then, like a punch to the gut, Virgil realised what was happening to him. Eyes widening in horror, he felt his breathing rate increasing as fear took hold of him. Of course, this only caused his chest to grow even tighter, and he felt as though a great crushing weight was pressing down upon him. For what felt like an eternity, the shocking realisation swam around in his head. He couldn't even think rationally any more, having lost the energy to do so long room span alarmingly, the bright lights swirling in his mind's eye as he struggled to stay upright. He felt his stomach churning, his head pounding, his chest and ribcage burning with pain, his injured arm shooting sharp daggers into his hand as he leaned his full weight upon the bed, gasping for breath.

"Virgil!"

Gripping onto the mattress, Virgil turned his head towards the doorway, blinking as silver spots began to float in front of his eyes. He vaguely registered the blurred outline of a familiar figure standing in the doorway as he struggled to suck in another breath. He could make out the horrofied look on his youngest brother's face as he wheezed mightily, his chest constricting even tighter.

"Allie-" he managed to gasp, before he felt his legs give way beneath him. Noises rushed around him, the blood pounding in his ears as he felt his knees slam onto the hard floor, his arms slipping from the bedside. He fell forwards, time slowing down as he closed his eyes, anticipating the sharp pain that would come when his chest made contact with the floor. But instead, he felt himself being caught by a pair of hands, falling against his rescuer's body instead of the hard metal plates.

"Virgil...you...wrong? Are...can....me?"

It sounded as though Virgil were underwater, listening to Alan yell at him from above. The rushing noise in his ears drowned out the majority of the words, but he was beyond being able to decipher what the language meant. He was fast sinking into the dark pool that was surrounding him, his arms and legs growing numb as he felt himself drifting away from the realms of consciousness. He could no longer feel, no longer see, no longer hear. His senses had been blocked by the buzzing darkness that was swiftly engulfing his mind. He knew he would soon be taken by the shadows, and gave up the tiring fight to stay awake, releasing his weak hold on consciousness and allowing himself to slip away.

Then the light was smothered, and the darkness claimed him.

* * *

**_What has happened to our dear family medic? Will the boys be able to save him? Who will blame themselves, and who will blame each other? And will Thomas be able to bring Virgil out of his dark subconsciousness and back into the light? Find out next time!_**

**_Yes, I know, you hate me now. But I felt in a playful mood, and thought it had been too long since the last cliffie. So...ta-daa! Despite the mean ending, I hope you enjoyed reading. PLEASE REVIEW and tell me what you though of it, I was partly talking from experience towards the end when Virgil collapsed. It was harder than I thought to get the experience across to you in words, since it's all so disorientating when it happens. But I hope it worked. Tell me what you thought of it!_**

**_HAPPY NEW YEAR!_**

**_xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox_**


	19. Chapter 19: Broken Wings

**_Howdy!_**

**_Okay, I'm back. And yeah, I'm a tad late, but that's not entirely my fault. Blame it on the profs at college (satisfied with the spelling CC? Lol.), I've had a ton of homework to get through. Thanks for all the great reviews, guys, I really appreciated all the encouraging comments. And I love the way that I have all of you baffled over what's troubling our poor middle Tracy son. In fact, I think only one of you really knows what's wrong with him, huh Sam1? Although a few of you weren't far off with your guesses._**

**_Anyway, enough chat. Back to the story..._**

* * *

Alan smiled as he watched the command and control centre slowly transform back into his father's office. The monitors and control desks folded in on themselves, flipping over and sinking back into the floor as the panels rotated. It took no more than thirty seconds, and by the end of it the only piece of furniture left unchanged was the couch at the far end of the room next to the large window. Satisfied that everything was at it should be once more, Alan stepped away from the door and strode up to his father's desk, reaching out to straighten a pen-holder that had toppled over.

Something glinted and caught his eye, and he paused, leaning over a little further to see what it was. He smiled when he realised that it was the light reflecting off the picture frames that stood beside the computer screen on the far left-hand side of the desk. Alan's smile softened a little as he studied the photograph of his mother and brothers at the ski resort. He gazed at himself in the picture; a grinning four-year-old standing proudly beside his brothers, with rosy cheeks shining in the cold and a hat that was far too big for his little head covering his blond locks. Shaking his head, he let out a soft chuckle. He was forced to agree with his brothers, he _had_ been a cute kid when he was little.

His gaze shifted slightly, focusing on the smiling face of his mother, and he sighed sadly. He could hardly remember anything about her, other than the sound of her voice as she sang him a lullaby when he was sick. And her smile. That was the one feature he knew the most. The smile that reached his mother's eyes and made the blue orbs sparkle merrily, lighting up the whole of her face. Tracing his middle and index finger over her features lightly, he sighed again, pulling away and beginning to straighten up.

However, he paused a moment more, his gaze shifting to another picture frame on the desk; the one that his father had only added after Spring break. It showed Alan and his brothers sitting at the poolside, their backs facing the camera. In the distance, the sun was setting over Tracy island, casting shadows around the five sons. The Tracy boys sat in a line along the edge of the pool, their legs dangling in the blue water as they watched the giant orange sphere sink lower and lower on the horizon. Alan sat in the middle, with Scott's arm slung over his shoulders on one side, and John's around his lower back on the other. On the left of the picture sat Virgil, a hand on Scott's shoulder as the other one lay stretched out behind him to prop himself up. Beside John on the far right-hand side sat Gordon, who had his arm slung around the older blond's shoulders casually. Although you could not see the faces of any of the five boys, the message that the photograph portrayed was truly heartfelt. It symbolised not only the friendship between the Tracy boys, but also their unity. Together, they were a family, and nothing was going to separate them.

"Well," Alan murmured, grinning slightly. "Unless Gordon hides John's chocolate again."

There were very few things in the world that truly got on the young astronaut's nerves, but an unexpected lack of cocoa products was one of them.

Smiling fondly at the picture, Alan chuckled again. The photograph had been taken on the last day of Spring break, when John had finally been allowed the freedom of unrestricted movement. They had thrown a barbecue that night in celebration of the fact that International Rescue was finally back in business. It had been a great occasion, and Alan had felt as though he were the happiest teenager alive. It had almost eradicated all thoughts of the attack on the island from his mind. But towards the end of the party, he had again remembered the very reason _why _the Thunderbirds had been forced to close down in the first place, and he had suddenly lost the ability to enjoy himself. He had gone to sit at the poolside to think, and before long the entire Tracy clan (minus his father) had come to join him, having known what was giving him grief. They had talked for a while, nothing more. Just talked. And that's when Jeff had taken the photograph. Neither Alan nor any of his brothers had noticed that their father had been standing behind them with a camera. At least not until he'd had the picture framed a few weeks later. Now each of the boys had a copy pinned up somewhere is their rooms as a reminder of that evening, and what it meant to each of them.

Alan suddenly started out of his daze. _Crap, I was supposed to be heading down to Thunderbird 2 to help move the guys up to the infirmary. I'd better get going before they think I've fallen asleep or something._

Jogging over to the lift doors on the far side of the office, Alan pressed the button and waited impatiently for the lift to arrive. When the doors finally opened, he jumped inside and reached across to the access panel, typing in the code that would allow him to descend to the silos beneath. With command and control centre no longer operating, the lift controls would automatically bar him from the lower levels unless he used the access code. His father had decided that this was the best way to ensure that their organisation remained secret, should guests come to visit the island. The last thing they wanted was somebody accidentally discovering Thunderbird 2's silo because they had pressed the wrong button.

As the doors slid closed and the lift began to move downwards, Alan leaned his back against the wall and tapped his foot impatiently. Gazing down at his sneakers, he ran a hand through his damp hair and puffed out a sigh. Although having a shower had felt good, it had also made him feel far too warm and cosy. And consequently, he was exhausted. The energy boost had indeed been very short-lived, and now all he wanted to do was grab a bite to eat and then crash for the next twelve hours.

Suddenly, he felt his watch begin to vibrate, and the screen started to flash red. Pressing the button on the side of the watch-face, he raised his left arm slightly and cleared his throat.

"Alan here."

"Alan," came his father's reply, his voice sounding tinny over the communicator. "I need you to get down to Thunderbird 2 and wait with Virgil until Tom gets back, alright?"

Alan frowned worriedly. "Is something wrong?" he asked, tugging at the collar of his T-shirt absently.

"Virgil's ribs are giving him some grief," Jeff explained. "And I don't really want him to walk to the infirmary on his own. Could you grab a stretcher on your way here and sit with him whilst we take Scott and John up?"

"Sure thing, Dad," Alan replied, as the lift came to a stop and the doors opened. "I'm almost at the silos, anyway. I'll just nick one from Two's storage unit on my way to sickbay."

As Alan stepped out of the lift and looked up, he saw his father coming towards him with Gordon, guiding Scott's hover-stretcher between them. Jeff smiled and lowered his arm, approaching the lifts and stopping long enough to squeeze Alan on the shoulder.

"Thanks, son," he murmured, ruffling Alan's damp locks. "I just don't want him to over-strain himself, that's all."

Alan nodded and returned the smile. In truth, he was glad that his father was putting his foot down and forcing Virgil to take things easy. If Virgil _had_ cracked a rib, then walking would be a particularly painful task to accomplish. It was better if he just stayed still and allowed his family to take care of him.

"Hey, Sprout!" Gordon greeted cheerfully, although he lowered his voice so as not to awaken Scott, who still lay peacefully in a drug-induced sleep upon the stretcher. "You're looking...cleaner."

"Gee thanks, Gordon." Alan grumbled jokingly, rolling his eyes. He glanced over Gordon's shoulder towards where Thomas was making his way along the walkway towards them, pushing John's stretcher in front of him. The doctor smiled as he spotted Alan, raising a hand from the handles of the stretcher and giving a slight wave.

"Hey Al," he greeted warmly. "You gonna babysit your brother for me until I get back? Just make sure he stays still, I don't want him to strain a muscle trying to walk around with those bruised ribs. And see if you can grab a stretcher from the supply closet on your way there. You and I can take him back together, okay?"

Alan nodded, reflecting upon just how similar Thomas and his father were in nature. "It'd be my pleasure."

Jeff smiled at him once more, before moving off down the walkway with Gordon, carefully steering Scott's stretcher into the lift. Thomas grinned at Alan and clapped him on the shoulder, before hurrying after his old friend with John's stretcher, squeezing into the lift just before the doors slid shut. Alan shook his head and smiled softly. It was a good thing that Brains had made the lifts so big, or else Thomas would have been forced to sit on Scott due to lack of floor space.

Smirking, Alan glanced back towards the closed doors. _Kinda makes an interesting mental picture, I'd pay good money to see that. Ah well, I guess I can't have everything my way. If I could, I would never have allowed myself to be the youngest son. _Sobering slightly, Alan's smile saddened somewhat as began to walk towards the entrance to Thunderbird 2. _I would never have allowed Mom to die, either. But as I said, I can't always have everything the way I want it to be. That's just how the world works._

Shaking his head, Alan pulled a disgusted face, stepping through the side-hatch of the large green vehicle and turning left down the corridor. _Man, I sound like Scott. Or, even worse, Dad. Man, that's a creepy thought. I guess he must be rubbing off on me._

As random thoughts continued to swirl around in his head, Alan slowly made his way down to sickbay. He was tired, and his arms and legs were running out of energy. However fast he wanted to move, his body didn't want to agree with him. So he was forced to stick to a steady pace as his feet '_thunked' _softly along the floor of the corridor, sounding overly loud in the silence. It was strange - very strange - not to be able to hear the background noises of Thunderbird 2's systems as he walked. Usually, there would be the constant thrumming and pulsing of the engines and thrusters, but not now. And in some ways, Alan found this uncomfortable. He had never been the sort of person who liked silence. He enjoyed solitude, of course, but he always preferred to go someplace where there was sound, like his favourite spot on the beach where he could hear the sound of the waves and the cool ocean breeze as it whispered through the palm trees. But complete silence? No, Alan wasn't such a big fan of that.

As he passed by a storage cabinet, he stopped, frowning slightly. He was sure that there was something he had forgotten to do. Snapping his fingers, he reached out towards the cabinet and turning the handle, pulling the door open and stepping inside. He found what he was looking for immediately. Grabbing one of the folded hover-stretchers from the the stack at the back of the large cabinet, he stepped back out into the corridor and leaned against the door to shut it. Sighing wearily, he pushed himself away from the wall and continued on towards sickbay.

As he neared his destination, he allowed a small smirk to slide onto his face. _Virgil's not gonna like being looked after like this. He's a great doctor, but I have a feeling that he'll make a lousy patient. Good thing that Tom's here to put his foot down, or else it'd be an epic battle just to get him onto the stretcher. Well, come to think of it, I suppose none of us are very good patients. Especially not Dad, judging by some of the stories I've heard about his time on the space station. So I guess that explains why me and the guys are so stubborn, too. It's integrated into our biological structure. Aw crap, I sound like John!_

Shaking his head, Alan bent down slightly to lean the folded hover-stretcher against the wall of the corridor beside the sickbay entrance. Straightening up, he reached out and pressed the button on the panel beside the doors, smiling to himself as they '_hissed'_ open. He began walking into the room, only to freeze mid-step at the scene that met his eyes.

Virgil was leaning over the bed on the far side of the room, his forearms supporting him as he stood slumped forwards over the mattress. He was at such an angle that Alan could not see his face, but the young blond-haired Tracy immediately knew that something was wrong. Virgil's hands were weakly gripping onto the rumpled blankets on the bed, his legs shaking as they tried to support his body weight. But the worst thing was the laboured gasps and pained grunts that floated across the otherwise silent room, turning Alan's blood cold and causing a sickening knot of worry to make it's way from the top of his chest right down to the pit of is stomach.

"Virgil!" he exclaimed, shocked at what he was witnessing, his legs still unable to move as fear gripped him. He saw his older brother turn slightly, his movements weak and sluggish, and Alan felt a stab of fear go right through his heart.

Virgil's face was pale. Far, far too pale. Alan had never seen it so white before. Beads of sweat shone on Virgil's forehead, gleaming in the glow of the overhead lights. The area around Virgil's mouth was a strange creamy white colour, and even his lips seemed to have changed colour. But the thing Alan noticed the most was the fact that Virgil's eyes were full of terror. Alan had seen his brother frightened by something before, but this – this was different. This was nearing full-blown panic.

Virgil opened and closed his mouth for a few seconds, before sucking in another short gasp of a breath. The sound was terrible; worse, even, than the way Fermat's breathing sounded when he was having a particularly bad asthma attack. And it wrapped an icy blanket of fear around Alan's chest.

"Allie-" Virgil rasped, locking eyes with Alan momentarily, before his eyelids drooped closed. Then his legs seemed to buckle beneath him, and he crashed onto his knees.

Whatever had been gluing Alan to the floor suddenly released it's hold on his legs, and he found that he could move. Darting forward, the teenager dropped to his knees and skidded to a halt in front of Virgil, reaching out to catch his brother just as the older Tracy's hands slipped from the bedside. As he toppled forwards onto Alan's chest. Alan held him for a moment, still in a mild state of shock over what had just happened, before he snapped out of his daze and found his voice again.

"Virgil, are you okay, what's wrong? Virgil, say something!" he demanded, unable to keep the panic out of his voice. "Are you alright? Virge, can you hear me? C'mon, man, answer me!"

The lack of response was doing nothing to soothe Alan's panicked state. Grunting, he pushed Virgil off his chest and carefully lowered his upper body to the floor, repositioning Virgil's legs so that the medic lay flat on his back. Leaning over his older brother, Alan patted the pale cheek gently, feeling his insides clenching with fear when Virgil's eyes remained closed.

"Virgil, open your eyes, c'mon." he instructed, trying to regain control of his rapid breathing. "Virge, just tell me what's wrong. C'mon, bro, don't do this!"

Feeling his control beginning to slip, Alan took in a deep breath through his nose, letting it out slowly through his mouth in an attempt to calm himself. He needed to think straight. He had been trained to perform professionally on the field during situation such as these, so why couldn't he focus now? But he honestly couldn't. The fear that gripped him seemed to push all of his medical knowledge right out of his head. He could only stare at the unconscious form of his brother in shock, his fingers feeling numb as he fumbled for a pulse at the side of Virgil's neck. He could have cried in relief when he felt the weak throb beneath his fingertips.

_'Dad. I've gotta call Dad! Virgil needs help!'_ he thought frantically, raising his left arm slightly and shakily punching in is father's code. His fingers shook so mightily that, on the first try, he punched in the wrong numbers. Swearing loudly, he gritted his teeth and forced himself to slow down, knowing that he would only make the same mistake if he continued to panic. When he finally got the code right, he held his breath, waiting desperately for his father to answer as he kept a hand to Virgil's cold and clammy cheek.

"_Jeff here. What's the-"_

"Dad, there's something wrong with Virgil!" Alan interrupted, his voice sounding strained and frightened, even in his own ears. "He – I don't know what's wrong, Dad, he just – he just collapsed!"

"Calm down, Alan," his father instructed, although Alan could detect the worry in his voice. "Just stay calm. Did he hit his head when he fell?"

Alan shook his head, even though his father couldn't see him. "No, I managed to catch before he hit the ground, but – but Dad, what's wrong with him? He said he was fine!"

"I don't know, son." Jeff replied gravely. "Have you checked his pulse?"

Alan nodded again, the anguish clear on his face as he brushed his thumb against Virgil's cheek. "It's way too fast, and it's kinda thready, but he does have one."

"Alright, Alan, just hold on." Jeff instructed, and Alan could hear faint voices in the background. His father's voice became slightly muffled as he obviously spoke to whoever was with him, and Alan resisted the urge to yell at them to _'stop standing around and **do** something!_'

"How's his breathing, is it regular?" Jeff inquired, and Alan could hear his Dad's words coming out slightly breathlessly. He guessed that his father was probably running down to Thunderbird 2 as he spoke. "Is his airway clear?"

"I don't know! He was having trouble breathing when I found him," Alan stated, as he ran a hand through his hair and tried to remember his basic training. _C'mon, you jerk, **think**! What am I supposed do to in this kinda situation? You're brother's counting on you,__ have to help him!_

And with that spark of determination, Alan felt the panicked fog clear from his mind, and his training finally kicked into action. He glanced down at Virgil's chest, waiting to see the steady rising and falling as his brother took in a breath. However, it never came. Virgil didn't seem to move at all. Fear gripped at his heart again, and he placed a hand either side of Virgil's body, leaning down and turning his head sideways, his cheek less than an inch away from Virgil's mouth. He didn't dare to breath for fear that he'd miss it, his whole body straining to feel for the warm breath against his skin. At last, after what seemed like an eternity, he felt a tiny tickle of hot air against his cheek. It was hardly anything at all, but it was enough.

"Alan?"

Starting slightly, Alan sat back up again and raised his watch-arm. "He's still breathing, Dad," he assured the older Tracy, feeling the knot of worry lessen slightly. "But it's wierd. His chest is barely moving."

"Alright, son, I'll be there in less than a minute. I'm stepping out of the lift now. Just stay calm, alright? Everything's gonna be fine."

As the comm-line was disconnected, another heavy silence descended over the sickbay. Alan forced himself to calm down. His dad was right, everything was going to be fine. Virgil would be fine. Absolutely fine.

The wait for his father to arrive seemed to last forever. Alan continued to check Virgil's pulse and breathing, growing more and more concerned every time he did so when he noticed that both were getting steadily slower. Virgil hardly seemed to breathe at all now, his chest unmoving and only the tiniest of breaths escaping his lips. His lips, in turn, seemed to be turning a worrying shade of deep blue, the area around his mouth now a chalk white. And the forehead was cold and clammy as Alan brushed his hand gently across the pale skin, willing Virgil to wake up and smile at him. He'd never been in this position before, seeing Virgil unconscious. In fact, to his recollection, Virgil had never fallen unconscious before. Not even when he had been injured in the avalanche that had taken their mother from them. It had always been the other Tracy's who got hurt, but Virgil – Virgil wasn't supposed to get hurt. Not ever.

"Just stay with me, Virge," Alan whispered, running his fingers through his brother's chestnut-brown hair and swallowing the painful lump in his throat. "You've gotta be okay. Dad's blood pressure's gonna go through the roof if anything else happens this evening. C'mon, Virge, wake up. Please!"

Suddenly, the familiar and wonderful '_hiss'_of the the doors echoed through the room. Alan glanced up sharply and turned his head towards the door, feeling relief flow through him at the sight of his father standing in the doorway. Jeff hurried forward, coming to kneel down at Alan's side, and immediately reached out to take Virgil's pulse.

"What happened?" he asked hurriedly, breathing heavily as he bent over Virgil's body and paused with his cheek close to his son's mouth, feeling for a breath.

"I don't know!" Alan replied, running a hand through his hair again. "When I got here, he was standing up and leaning against the bed and - and he seemed to be having trouble breathing. And then he just collapsed! I didn't know what to do, I'm sorry!"

Jeff sat back up again and turned towards Alan, putting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing it reassuringly. "You did everything you could, Alan, it's alright. What's important now is that we get your brother up to the infirmary so that Tom can take a look at him, okay? I need you to grab a hover-stretcher for me."

Alan nodded, almost snapping to attention, and stood to his feet, running out of the room to grab the hover-stretcher that he had left leaning against the wall in the corridor. Everything was going to be alright. As long as they got Virgil up to Thomas, he'd be fine. Thomas wold see to that.

As Alan stepped back into the infirmary and carefully began to help his father in maneuvering Virgil's body onto the stretcher, he sent up a desperate prayer.

_Please God, don't let it be anything really serious. This isn't supposed to happen to Virge. Please, just make him be okay._

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... .... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Gordon ran a hand over Scott's arm, glancing between his eldest brother, and bed on the other side of the room that John currently occupied. Thomas was leaning over the still form of the blond astronaut, lifting his eyelids and shining a penlight in his eyes. As Gordon watched, he proceeded to activate the overhead diagnostic panels, pressing icons on the large touch-screen in order to programme the scanners to detect any sudden changes in the blood pressure or blood-oxygen levels within John's body.

Glancing over at the door, Gordon sighed slightly, worrying his bottom lip. Had Jeff arrived at Thunderbird 2's sickbay yet? Just as he and the Tracy patriarch had been transferring Scott onto the bed in the infirmary, his father had a received a panicked call from Alan. His younger brother's words had made Gordon's blood run cold. Sure, he'd known that Virgil had been bashed up pretty badly during the earthquake, but he'd never have guessed that the injuries were extensive enough to affect Virgil in such a severe way. Virgil had collapsed.

_Man, I knew that something was wrong with him. I should've said something. He's been looking like crap ever since we found him with the other guys in the science building. He was way too pale. Dammit, why did I pick this one time to keep my mouth shut?!_

Standing up out of the chair, Gordon left Scott's bedside and walked over to wear Thomas was running a hand-held scanner over John's arm. He opened his mouth, wanting to ask the doctor if it would be alright for him to go down to Thunderbird 2 and offer his assistance to Jeff and Alan. However, Thomas cut him off before the words had even formed on his tongue, his gaze still fixed on the small screen in front of him.

"No, Gordon."

Gordon blinked, surprised. "No what?"

"No, you can't go down to the silo and help your father transport Virgil up here," Thomas elaborated, setting the scanner down and reaching out to unstrap the sling from around John's arm. Gordon stared at him momentarily, shaking his head.

"How the heck do you do that?" he asked softly, more to himself than to the older man. Then, snapping out of his daze, he allowed a small frown to form upon his face. "And why can't I go down? If Alan's right and Virgil _has_ collapsed, they might need my help. C'mon, Tom, please? I have to do _something_!"

Thomas turned around and put a hand on Gordon's shoulder. "Two's a couple, three's a crowd."

Gordon blinked again as the doctor stepped past him, trying to figure out what exactly the statement had meant. However, before he could ask for an explanation, Thomas picked up an IV line and strode back over to John's side.

"Gordon," he said softly. "Your Dad's gonna bring Virgil straight up here, they're not gonna hang about in Two. Yes, Virgil has collapsed, but the easiest place to treat him is up here, since the more advanced equipment is kept in here, not in the sickbay. And besides, he specifically asked you to stay here; the main reason being that he wanted you to be close enough to help me sit on Scott, should he awaken before your Dad gets back."

Gordon smiled at the doctor's comment, feeling himself relax slightly. He ran a hand through his hair and puffed out a short sigh, looking about the room absently. He hated feeling useless. He wishes he had stayed down in Thunderbird 2 instead of Alan, that way he would have been there when his older brother collapsed. Perhaps he might even have been able to prevent it. But more than anything, he was feeling guilty over the fact that Alan had been the one to witness the incident.

_The kid's been through a helluva lot this evening. This was just about the worst thing that could've happened. Poor Al. He was already totally zonked because of the rescue, and the suddenness of Virgil's change in condition was probably a nasty shock. I wonder if he's coping with it all? Dammit, why'd this hafta happen? Why now, after everything we've been through over the past seven hours? This is totally unfair, especially on Virge. He's not supposed to get hurt._

Gordon sighed again, rubbing a hand over his face and blinking to keep the fatigue at bay. "Hey Tom," he murmured. "Is there anything I can do to help? I hate just standing around like this."

Thomas glanced up at him from where he had been inserting the IV line into John's arm. "Actually yes, there is one thing," he replied, taping the thin tupe in place and reaching up to plug in the bag of fluids. "I need you to wheel in another bed for Virge. They're kept in the the storage room just down the hall, right?"

"Right." Gordon confirmed, nodding his head slightly. Turning around, he jogged out of the room, grateful for the temporary distraction.

Wheeling the bed out of the storage room was no easy task, but Gordon really didn't give a damn about the paintwork right now. Instead of carefully maneuvering the bed through the wide doorway, he opted for brute force, not even blinking as the metal bars on the bed bashed against the wall and left a small dent in the wood of the door-frame. Charging back up the corridor towards the infirmary, he was a little more careful upon entering the silent room, being mindful of his two injured brothers. As he wheeled the bed over to the space beside a set of monitors and clamped on the breaks, he noticed that Thomas was looking at him in mild amusement. Turning towards the older man, raised a questioning eyebrow, even though he knew exactly what Thomas was thinking about.

"What?" he asked innocently. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

As he pushed himself away from the bed and began to moved back towards his older blond brother, Thomas answered, "When I asked you to get another bed, I didn't know that you were going to trash up the house in the process."

As Gordon opened his mouth to reply with a witty remark, a soft groan sounded in the room. Gordon's head snapped round to where his eldest brother lay on the other side of the room, and noticed that Scott was attempting to sit up. Jogging across to the other bed swiftly, Gordon came to his sibling's side and put his hands on Scott's shoulders.

"Hey," he smiled softly. "Look who finally decided to join us."

Scott slumped back against the pillows and blinked up at him groggily, before glancing around the room in apparent confusion. "We home already?" he asked, his voice muffled by fatigue.

"Yup," Gordon replied. "You fell asleep in sickbay. Guess that just proves how smooth I fly that giant green beasty, huh?"

Scott grinned sleepily as Gordon crossed his arms over his chest and nodded in self-satisfaction.

"Don't let Virge hear you call her that," he yawned, pushing himself up onto his elbows again. Gordon felt the heavy weight drop into his stomach again, and he glanced towards the door as though half expecting Jeff and Alan to enter at that very minute. Scott noticed his sudden change in mood, and frowned slightly. "What's the matter?"

Gordon glanced back down at Scott and plastered a fake smile onto his face. "Nothing. Go back to sleep, everything's fine."

"Liar," Scott stated, his frown deepening. The older man sat up suddenly, wincing as he shakily swung his legs over the side of the bed, his face growing pale as he wavered slightly on the mattress.

"Put one toe on the floor, kid, and so help me I'll keep you in here for a week."

Scott froze, glancing over at Thomas and smiling sheepishly as he spotted the doctor standing at the end of John's bed, his arms crossed over his chest and a stern frown planted on his usually cheerful face. Uncrossing his arms, Thomas pointed to the bed on which Scott sat.

"Lie down," he ordered. "Or suffer the consequences."

Scott opened his mouth to protest, but was cut off when the doors '_swished'_ open and two figures jogged into the room, pushing a hover-stretcher between them. Gordon felt his eyes widen as he saw just how pale his older brother looked as he lay unconscious a few feet away from him.

"Virgil!" Scott cried, both surprised and shocked at seeing his younger brother unconscious. He jumped off the bed, swaying slightly as feet hit the floor, and gritted his teeth. Stumbling forward and pushing Gordon's hands away from him, he walked around to the end of his bed, pausing long enough to gaze down at the pasty face beneath him. Gordon put a steadying hand on his shoulder, following his brother's gaze and swallowing in an attempt to moisten his dry mouth. Above all else at this point in time, the young aquanaut was sure of one thing;

It was bad.

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Alan felt relief pulse through his numb body as he finally entered into the sickbay, guiding his precious burden in front of him. Then suddenly, there was a flurry of movement as Thomas and Jeff transferred Virgil onto the empty bed in the room - w_ait, since when have we had three beds in here?_

Alan walked forward, everything still feeling so unreal and dream-like that he barely registered his own actions as he came to stand a few feet away from the end of his brother's bed. His father was talking to the doctor hurriedly, but Alan could barely hear what they were saying as he continued to stare at the far-too-pale face before him, feeling his stomach churn and his limbs grow cold. This couldn't be happening, it just couldn't.

"Alan?" suddenly, there was a hand on his shoulder, and Alan seemed to snap out of his daze. Turning his head towards the voice, he was met with the worried green eyes of his older sibling. Blinking, Alan swallowed and turned back to watch as Thomas began to swiftly cut through Virgil's uniform, Jeff already working to turn on the overhead diagnostic panels.

As Thomas cut through the material of the T-shirt beneath Virgil's uniform, all the conscious occupants of the room let out a collective gasp of shock. Virgil's right sight was mottled with bruises, and a perfectly spherical bruise lay directly in the centre of his chest. Thomas threw the scissors back down into the metal trolley beside him, taking up his stethoscope and putting it in his ears. He placed the metal disk against Virgil's chest, his face tight as he paused momentarily to listen. Then it creased with worry, and he reached over to grab a hand-held scanner from beside him. After a moment, he looked over at Jeff with a serious expression.

"It's a tension pneumothorax," he stated, grabbing a cotton wool swab and the bottle of disinfectant gel.

"A what?" Alan asked worriedly, finally being able to find his voice as he gazed between the doctor and his unconscious older brother.

"A collapsed lung." Thomas elaborated swiftly, donning a fresh pair of gloved before swabbing an area of Virgil's chest with the gel. Reaching back over towards the metal trolley, he picked up a large syringe. "Jeff, I need you to grab me a chest tube."

Alan watched in a slight daze as Thomas inserted the long needle into Virgil's chest. He felt sick to his stomach. Virgil's lung had collapsed? But how? Scott had assured him that there weren't any broken ribs. So it couldn't have punctured his lung. How could this be happening?

Suddenly, Thomas removed the needle from Virgil's chest, dropping it back onto the tray and taking up his stethoscope. Putting the metal cone to the bare skin once more, he paused, his frown frozen on his features. Then his eyes widened and he straitened up sharply, just as warning beeps began to sound on the overhead monitors.

"Dammit, he's stopped breathing! Jeff, get me an kit, I've gotta intubate!" the doctor ordered, tilting Virgil's head back and glancing up at the readings on the diagnostic panels.

Alan felt the room begin to spin as his heart-rate increased, the alarms blaring shrilly in his head. He swayed slightly on the spot, feeling his legs begin to grow weak. His fingers tingled and his hands grew cold as he stared in horror at the scene that was unfolding before him.

"Whoa, Sprout!" Gordo cried, catching his younger brother as Alan swayed alarmigly. He kept his arms around the smaller teenager, hoping desperately that another one of his siblings wasn't about to collapse.

Hearing the cry, both Thomas and Jeff glanced up from there work momentarily. Taking the intubation kit of Jeff, the other man focused his attention on inserting the breathing tube through Virgil's open mouth, sliding it into place down the back of his throat.

"Gordon, get Alan out of here," he instructed.

Gordon didn't even bother to protest, too worried about his younger brother to argue with the doctor whilst he worked. And besides, Thomas needed to concentrate on Virgil right now. If Alan passed out, it would only cause more problems. He needed to get the blond-haired Tracy somewhere quiet so that he could calm him down.

Alan felt somebody tugging him away from Virgil's bed, and shook his head mutely. He didn't want to leave. He wanted to stay. He had to stay, Virgil needed him. But the arms were stronger than him. Far stronger. His weak and weary body was no match for their strength, and he found himself being half dragged, half carried from the room, his legs too numb to coordinate themselves.

As Alan and Gordon stumbled out into the silent corridor, the doors '_swished'_shut behind them. Alan felt his strength give out as he slumped against the wall, turning around and sliding all the way down so that he sat on the floor. He didn't understand what was going on. It was all a dream, it had to be. It couldn't have been real, could it? What had just happened? Was Virgil going to die?

Bringing his knees up to his chest, Alan rested his arms upon them and allowed his head to drop down so that his forehead leaned on the cool, bare skin. Breathing heavily, his throat tight, he tried to blink the tears away, shaking his head in denial.

_This can't be happening. 'Cause Virge isn't supposed to get hurt. Not ever._

* * *

**_How will the family cope after this sudden turn in events? Will Virgil's condition improve overnight, or will things only get worse? And how are the brother going to react to the realisation that Virgil is in a critical condition? Find out next time!_**

**_There you have it, another chapter done. Man, I'm tired. I hate chemistry. Anyway, the next update should be sometime later this week, maybe Thursday evening if I can squeeze it in. Until then, feel free to REVIEW and tell me what you though of the chapter._**

**_A bientot, mes amis!_**

**_xoxoxoxox_**


	20. Chapter 20: Lean On Me

**_Greetings!_**

**_Okay, I admit that I'm running very late. Sorry about that. But I completely forgot about my evening dance class on Thursday, and then I was away the whole weekend with my youth group, and then I had dance again on Monday so I was a little rushed for time. Big sorries! _**

**_But don't worry, you're not the only ones who suffered over the weekend! I lived up to my true name as 'Bump', and got a rather nasty boo-boo whilst I was away. The incident involved a pan of boiling water and my right thigh. Put two and two together, and you should come to the right conclusion. Yeah, it hurt. Still does, actually. And it looks gross. But hey, at least I'll be more careful next time, huh?_**

**_Thanks for all the great reviews, they really made my week. And with college as dull and boring and cruel as it can possibly be at the moment, they were a nice excuse to take a break from studies and go online to reply to you all. Cheers!_**

**_Okay, now the belated continuation can commence..._**

* * *

Gordon gritted his teeth as he pulled hard against his younger brother, supporting the shorter teenager as he forcefully dragged him away from the end of Virgil's bed. He couldn't bear to just stand there and do nothing; to see Virgil so weak and small. It was wrong. It was all wrong.

Gordon took a steadying breath as he stepped out into the corridor, the brighter light burning his weary eyes momentarily. He gritted his teeth again, trying to battle against the worry within him. _Happy thoughts, Gordo, happy thoughts. He's gonna be fine. Tom's gonna have Virgil up and about again in no time. He'll be fussing over our scrapes again before long._

Gordon let out a sigh as the infirmary doors slid shut behind them, leaving the corridor an empty silence. His ears still rang with the sound of the diagnostic alarms, and he shook his head, trying to get rid of the high-pitched noise. Puffing out a steadying breath, he ran a hand through his hair and closed his eyes in an attempt to block out the images of his unconscious older brother. He had to stay calm. He had to think rationally.

Gordon grimaced, opening his eyes again. _Great, I have to act like Scott. Lucky me._

Shaking his head, he smiled slightly. At least his sense of humour was still intact. In fact, it would probably go into overdrive with things being as stressed as they were at present. Gordon had discovered many years ago that the more serious the situation was, the harder it became to avoid cracking jokes. John had mused that it was direct proof of his subconscious desire to lighten a tense atmosphere. Gordon had just stated that it happened because he was awesome.

Letting out another small sigh, Gordon looked up, his gaze immediately locking onto Alan's slumped figure. His little brother sat against the wall a few metres away, his knees brought up to his chest and his head buried in his arms. Gordon's throat tightened ever so slightly. Ever since Alan had been a little kid, he would sit in that same position whenever he was upset or hurt. Although, in truth, it had been a long while since Gordon had seen Alan like this. Even after the events of Spring break, he hadn't looked _this_ vulnerable. Gordon was very much reminded of the five-year-old boy who had been scared out of his wits by a thunderstorm. It had been nearly ten years since that day, but Gordon had never been able to shake the memory. Those sort of images stayed with you for life.

Stepping forward quietly, Gordon sat down carefully on the right-hand side of his younger sibling, keeping his legs straight out in front of him and leaning back against the wall. He gently put his left arm around Alan's shoulders, feeling his brother stiffen beneath his touch. Then Alan's muscles seemed to relax, and he sagged against Gordon's shoulder. Leaning in closer, Gordon squeezed the younger teenager into a one-armed hug.

"Hey," he murmured. "You okay?"

Alan nodded his head slowly, still keeping his face buried in his arms. Gordon worried his bottom lip with his teeth, not wanting to push Alan into talking if he didn't feel like doing so. But he knew for a fact that his little brother was lying. He was clearly _not_ okay. Far from it, in fact.

"Alright then," Gordon said softly, deciding to allow Alan the time he needed to calm down and regain control of his emotions. Rubbing his thumb against Alan's shoulder, he leaned his head against the wall and gazed up at the ceiling, feeling his own rapid heartbeat finally begin to slow.

__

Man, today really couldn't get any worse, could it? Scott and John's injuries were bad enough, but Virgil's are ten times worse. I've seen the affects of a tension pneumothorax before, and they've never been good. It's worse than just a collapsed lung, I know that much. But I don't get how it could've happened. He was breathing normally when I last saw him in sickbay. It all seemed so sudden. I guess Virge must've been hiding it so that we wouldn't worry about him. He's always done that. It's just a good thing that he rarely gets sick or hurt, or else he'd probably be dead by now-

Gordon mentally slapped himself the second that the thought flitted through his weary mind. _How can I be thinking that at a time like this?_ Shaking his head, he let out another small sigh, almost jumping out of his skin when a tentative voice broke through the silence of the corridor.

"Virgil's gonna be okay, right?"

Glancing over to his left, Gordon saw that Alan had finally raised his head from his arms, and was now gazing up at him, his sparkling orbs showing his fatigue and his face tight with worry. Gordon swallowed down the painful lump that had risen in his throat at the sight of the desperation that radiated out from his little brother's blue eyes. Forcing a smile onto his face, he nodded his head slightly.

"Yeah, Sprout, he's gonna be fine," he assured the younger boy, squeezing Alan against him gently. "Virgil's just as stubborn as Scott, remember? This'll be a walk in the park for him."

Alan took in a shaky breath and glanced down at his knees. "But he – he - dammit, Gordon, he stopped breathing," the smaller Tracy murmured, his voice wavering slightly.

And just like that, Alan was no longer Gordon's partner-in-crime. He was no longer the stubborn, confident and occasionally aggravating fifteen-year-old who was always trying his utmost best to conceal his true emotions. He was Gordon's baby brother. And, without a second thought, Gordon did something that he had never done before. Reaching out with his right hand, he gently pulled Alan's head against his chest, keeping his left arm around the younger Tracy's shoulders. Holding him gently, he closed his eyes and breathed out a long sigh. Throughout Alan's childhood, it had always been the older three brothers who had comforted their youngest brother in this way. But right now, Gordon was all that Alan had. And Gordon's protective instincts were pumping at full power. He barely even registered his actions as he began to run the fingers of right hand through Alan's hair slowly.

"Tom's intubated him, Al," he murmured gently. "The ventilator will breathe for him until Tom's managed to re-inflate his lung. Everything's gonna be fine."

Alan shook his head ever so slightly, shivering in Gordon's arms as the tears began to well up in his eyes.

"But this isn't s'posed to happen to Virge," he whispered, his voice cracking with barely-restrained emotion. Gordon felt his own eyes begin to mist over, and he had to take a steadying breath just to keep his emotions in check.

"I know, kiddo," he soothed, feeling Alan sag against him even more. "I know. But it's gonna be alright, you hear? He's gonna be okay."

Holding Alan tightly against him, Gordon looked up towards the ceiling once more and closed his eyes against the turmoil of emotions that rolled around within his fuzzy mind. _Virgil **is** gonna be alright, he has to be. This can't happen to our family. Not again._

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Scott stood at the end of his bed, his eyes still focused on the unconscious form of his younger brother. He hadn't moved from his standing position for what felt like hours, and words could barely describe the agonising ache that had been working it's way up his leg. The pain meds that Virgil had given him at the rescue zone had worn off, and Scott was beginning to feel the full effects of his injuries. But right now, that wasn't his primary concern. All he cared about was seeing Virgil awake again.

Scott eyes flickered over to where his father sat at Virgil's bedside, running his fingers through the chestnut-brown hair and gently holding his middle-son's hand. Scott swallowed down the guilt and pain that he felt bubbling up inside of him. This was all his fault. He should never have let Virgil's condition worsen to this extent. He had fallen asleep during the long flight home. He had let his little brother down.

_And now look at him. He can't even breathe on his own right now. Even though Tom's managed to re-inflate his lung, he's still too weak to be taken off the ventilator. Dammit, how could I have let this happen? It's my job to look after him, my job to make sure he and the other guys don't get hurt. But look at what's happened; John's got a concussion and Virgil - Virgil nearly died. Dammit, we almost lost him. And it was all because of me._

His gaze drifted back to where Virgil lay on the bed. The black, red and blue marks that covered his right-hand side contrasted clearly with the creamy paleness of his bare chest. And that - that alien object which now protruded out of his side like some freaky robotic mutation - that just served as a reminder of how serious the situation was. Scott had seen plenty of chest tubes being inserted to casualties on the field, but seeing it being done to your own brother was a whole new experience. And it was one that Scott hoped he would never have to witness again.

Scott's eyes narrowed slightly as his eyes focused on the jagged cut that marred Virgil's upper-arm. Although it was no longer than two inches, it still looked pretty nasty. Scott knew that Thomas would probably treat it as soon as he had finished analysing the x-rays. _Well, unless Virgil's ribs have done a load of internal damage. Then he'll probably need surgery. Thank God Tom's here to take care of him. We owe that guy so much._

"Scott," a voice said suddenly, breaking the pilot's train of thought and snapping him back into reality. Scott looked over to where his father sat at the bedside, regarding him with a concerned expression upon his face.

"Yeah?" Scott inquired, surprised at how small and weary his voice sounded as he spoke.

Jeff's worried frowned deepened. "Son, maybe you should lie down and rest for a while. You've lost a lot of blood, you need to take it easy until Tom's patched you up."

"I'll be fine," Scott murmured, his gaze returning to Virgil's still form. He knew he was being stupid. He needed to rest. Dammit, his whole body was screaming at him to lie down; but he wasn't going to give in this time. He wasn't going to let himself fall asleep until he knew for certain that Virgil was going to be okay. Once Tom had finished treating his brothers, Scott would allow himself to be cared for. But until then, it was his duty to watch over Virgil as he slept - if you could really call his state of unconsciousness 'sleeping'.

Suddenly, the door to the small laboratory '_swished' _open, and Thomas strode back into the room, a calm expression upon his face. Gliding past Scott, he arrived at Virgil's bedside, immediately glancing up at the overhead monitors and jotting down notes on his hand-held data pad. Taking his stethoscope from around his neck, he put it in his ears and pressed the metal end against Virgil's chest, moving it from the left side to the right ever few seconds. The loud _'whoosh-hiss'_ of the ventilator was the only sound that filled the room as the two conscious Tracy's allowed the doctor to work in silence. At last, Thomas straightened up, slinging the stethoscope around his neck once more and letting out a small sigh.

"How is he?" Jeff inquired quietly, reaching out to stroke Virgil's hair gently.

"Well, the good news is that-" Thomas began, before pausing, a frown upon his face. Slowly, he turned his head to the side and fixed Scott with a questioning stare, concern burning in his green eyes. Stepping away from Virgil's bedside, he came to stand in front of Scott, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder.

"You," he said softly, running his thumb over the material over the uniform as he gazed into Scott's face steadily. "Should be lying down. C'mon, let's get you back into bed so that I can take a look at that leg of yours."

Scott shook his head wearily. "I'm fine," he repeated, cursing himself again at how weak his voice sounded. "Take care of Virge first, I can wait."

Thomas' expression remained perfectly calm, although his voice took on a sterner note. "Scott, you need to lie down," he stated firmly. Then, softening his tone, he smile reassuringly. "Virgil's gonna be just fine, Scott. The worst is over, I promise. And besides, there's nothing more that I can do for him just now. His body took quite a beating, it's gonna need time to heal. And in the meantime, I need to treat your injuries, okay?"

Scott bit the inside of his cheek, glancing between the doctor, his younger brother, and the concerned look on his father's face. With a resigned sigh, he dropped his gaze, nodding his head slowly. He felt Thomas' hand move from his shoulder to his forearm, beginning to guide him around the side of the bed. Scott carefully released his iron-like grip on the bar at the end of the bed, taking a tentative step forward. For a moment, everything seemed alright, and the pain in his calf only increased by a small amount. Then suddenly, he felt the world begin to spin. His legs seemed to go numb, and he felt himself beginning to topple sideways.

"Whoa! Easy, tiger," Thomas murmured, catching Scott as he swayed violently. Holding the younger man upright, he supported him for the few steps that it took to reach the edge of the bed. Helping him onto it, the doctor carefully swung Scott's legs up and over the side, laying them down onto the mattress gently.

Scott winced as pain flared in his lower leg, unable to hold in the small grunt that managed to make its way to his lips. Blinking up at the ceiling fuzzily, Scott cleared his vision and focused on the face that had appeared above him.

"You alright, Scotty?" Jeff asked softly, his hand coming to rest on the side of Scott's neck. The younger Tracy nodded as the world stopped spinning, and tried to push himself up onto his elbows. However, a firm hand clamped down on his shoulder and prevented him from doing so.

"Move and inch, and you die." Thomas warned flatly, pushing Scott gently back down again. Scott frowned. He hated staring up at the ceiling. He wanted to keep an eye on John and Virgil, just to make sure that they were both alright.

Suddenly, Scott felt the world begin to move again. However, it was not due to his disorientation; Thomas had pressed the button on the remote that was attached to the bed frame, and the top-end of the bed had risen to a forty-five degree angle. Scott sighed as the rest of the infirmary came back into view. _That's more like it._

Thomas set the remote down, leaning his hand against the mattress and smiling at Scott. "That better?" he inquired, his eyes twinkling knowingly.

Scott nodded, smiling his thanks at the older man. Thomas always seemed to be able to read him like an open book. Heck, sometimes his ability to read minds _totally_ freaked Scott out. But Scott was grateful that Thomas understood. It saved him from having to explain his emotions; a thing that Scott wasn't exactly keen on doing right now.

As Thomas pulled on a pair of surgical gloves and tugged a metal trolley towards him, Scott reached up to run a hand through his hair. He gritted his teeth as the doctor began to remove his boot, grimacing as he felt hot needles of pain shoot up his leg. Jeff had retrieved his chair from Virgil's bedside, and was now sitting next to Scott's bed - although, Scott noted, the Tracy patriarch was constantly glancing back over his shoulder towards the two unconscious men on either side of the room. Scott felt rather guilty about forcing his Dad to leave Virgil's side, and opened his mouth to tell his father that it was alright, he would be just fine. However, Jeff shot Scott a look that shut him up before he could say anything. Smiling slightly, Jeff leaned forward and squeezed Scott's shoulder.

"You can take it easy, Sparky," he soothed. "I'll take care of everything. Just relax."

Scott listened to his father's words, and felt his muscles begin to relax - muscles that he hadn't even realised he'd been tensing until that very moment. Playing with the blankets beneath him, using the fingers of his uninjured hand, he returned his gaze to where Thomas was beginning to cut through the long, blood-stained dressing on his leg.

"Tom, how were Virgil's x-rays?" he asked, feeling his father tense beside him at the question. "Are the fractures serious?"

Thomas glanced up from his work momentarily, before continuing to carefully snip through the bandage. "He sustained hairline fractures on four of his ribs, but I couldn't see any indication of extended fractures. They should heal up nicely over the next month or so. He's gonna be as sore as hell for the next couple of weeks, but he'll be okay. I won't even need to operate."

Scott frowned. Something just didn't make sense in all of this.

"But-" he stuttered. "But I don't get it. If none of his ribs were properly fractured, how did his lung collapse? I thought one of his ribs had punctured it?"

Thomas shook his head, unwinding the rest of the dressing from around Scott's leg. "There's big difference between a tension pneumothorax and a collapsed lung," he stated, carefully tugging the gauze pads off the wound. "Dammit, Scott, how did you get this?"

"I sliced it on a broken support beam or something," Scott said dismissively, not honestly caring about the state of his leg at present. "Anyway, what were you saying about Virge's pneumothorax?"

"Hmm? Oh, right," Thomas mumbled, as Jeff came to stand beside him. The father of five blanched at the sight of the injury, looking up at Scott incredulously and shooting his son a worried glare that demanded '_why didn't you tell me it was this bad?!'_. Scott smiled at him sheepishly, and Jeff shook his head, returning to Scott's side and sitting back down again.

"I'm just gonna give you a couple of shots to numb your leg, okay?" Thomas stated, taking up a small bottle of clear liquid and a hypodermic needle. "Just stay still for me, and I'll answer your question in just a sec."

A few moments - and a couple of sharp pricks - later, Thomas set the needle back down again and took up a swab and a bottle of disinfectant. "Where was I?" he asked softly. "Ah yes, Virgil's condition. Well, a tension pneumothorax is caused by a small volume of air leaking into the plural cavity and-"

"Wait, wait, wait. The pluro-what?" Scott inquired, his confused frown deepening. Thomas poured a little of the liquid out of the bottle and onto the gauze swab, before looking back up at Scott calmly.

"The plural cavity," he repeated. "It's the fluid-filled space between the lungs and the inner lining of the chest wall. Now usually, the pressure within the lungs is greater than the pressure within the plural cavity, which is why breathing is such an easy task for us - the lungs can inflate and deflate easily, right? But when air enters the plural cavity, the pressure begins to increase, making it more and more difficult for the lungs to expand. The right lung is often the most severely affected, as it is designed to inflate to a greater extent than the left lung."

"So the build-up of pressure made Virgil's lung collapse?" Scott concluded, trying to ignore the strange sensation - or, moreover, the _lack_ thereof - in his lower leg. Thomas nodded, reaching out to gently flick Scott's shin.

"You feel anything?" he inquired, glancing over at Scott. When the pilot shook his head, he nodded in satisfaction and began to clean away the dried blood using the gauze swab. "Yes, eventually the pressure within the plural cavity rose to such a level that Virgil's lung was unable to re-inflate on it's own. With no air inside it, it was pushed against the side of the ribcage. With oxygen levels in his blood practically down to zero, Virgil's left lung just gave up trying to do all the work on it's own, which is why he stopped breathing. But his blood-ox levels are continuing to rise, so he should be strong enough to cope without the ventilator in a few hours' time."

Scott was still confused. Maybe it was the effects of the drugs, he honestly wasn't sure. But he was still having trouble piecing together the snippets of information he'd been fed. The jigsaw just didn't seem to fit together.

"Forgive me if I sound stupid," he began quietly. "But how'd the air get into Virgil's pluro-whatsit in the first place? You told me his lung wasn't punctured."

Thomas dropped the bloodied swab back down onto the trolley, taking up another and pouring a little more of the liquid onto the white material. "You remember about twenty minutes ago, when I was about to take those x-rays, and I found that puncture wound on Virgil's back?"

Scott nodded, his foggy mind beginning to see the path that the puzzle was taking. "But that thing was tiny," he stated. "It was nothing compared to how bad his ribs looked."

Thomas smiled at him sadly. "Sometimes an injury that size is all it takes," he explained. "You see, although the wound was smaller than the flat end of a pencil, it was about an inch deep. Now, that may not seem like much, but it was enough to penetrate his plural membrane and-"

"His what?" Scott interrupted, wishing that his High School biology class had taught him a little bit more about the human body.

"Plural membrane," Thomas repeated calmly. "It's basically just a fancy word for the inner lining of the chest wall. Anyway, the puncture wound opened up a tiny hole in the membrane, and allowed air to enter the plural cavity. It was small enough to only allow tiny amounts of air in at a time, but large enough to bring about a tension pneumothorax."

"Won't you hafta operate to seal the puncture wound shut?" Scott asked worriedly. Thomas' smile softened, and he shook his head.

"That's the good thing about plural membranes, Scooter," he remarked. "They may be easily penetrated, but the rate of cell replication in that area is truly amazing. I'd give it another nine hours, and the hole in the membrane will have been sealed by a thin layer of new cells. It'll take a couple of days to heal completey, but there's really nothing to worry about. I've glued the outer puncture wound shut, so no more air will be able to enter the chest cavity. He was lucky we managed to find it before it caused any more damage."

Scott shook his head, his gaze drifting over to where his injured brother lay upon the bed. "Why din't he tell us?" he asked softly, more to himself than to the other two men. "He never said anything about an injury in his back."

Thomas patted his thigh gently - that being the only area of Scott's leg that wasn't numb. "To be honest, Scotty, he probably didn't know it was even there. In comparison with the ache from his ribs, the puncture wound would have felt like nothing more than a dull throb. And considering how badly you guys got bashed about earlier on, it's really no surprise that he overlooked the injury. I doubt even I would've paid heed to it until it was too late."

Scott nodded his head, but he still couldn't stop himself from inwardly berating his own inattention. He should have kept a closer eye on his younger brother. This should never have happened. It just wasn't fair.

Running his eyes over the pale features on the bed a few metres away, Scott hardened his resolve to prevent anything like this from occurring again. _I've always gone soft on you, Virge. I've never questioned your methods or pushed into doing something that you didn't want to do. In a way, you were too much like me when it came to stubborn determination. I always assumed that you wouldn't hide things from me. But never again. Like it or not, I'm gonna keep a closer eye on you from now on._

_'Cause this **can't** happen to our family. Not again._

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Gordon tried to blink the sleep out of his vision, feeling his eyes growing heavier and heavier. Taking a deep breath, he shook his head violently in an attempt to fend off the fatigue that threatened to wash over him. As though sensing his unease, Alan stirred beside him, grunting in his sleep and shifting around in his position against Gordon's side. Gordon rubbed the younger teenager's back gently, feeling the protective side of him take control as leaned his cheek against the blond hair. Alan relaxed again, breathing deeply as he settled back down into a deeper sleep.

Gordon smiled. _Mission accomplished._

He grimaced as he tried to move into a more comfortable position without awakening his younger sibling. He didn't mind supporting Alan like this, but it was beginning to get a little uncomfortable. According to his watch, they'd been sitting out in the corridor for almost an hour now. And however much Gordon wanted to go into the infirmary and check on his brothers, he didn't want to leave Alan alone. His little brother's reaction to everything that had happened had been enough to emphasise the fact that Alan was still just a kid. And Gordon would give up swimming before he left his brother alone at a time like this.

Grunting, Gordon tried to wriggle himself into a more upright position, frowning when his attempts did not seem to produce a more comfortable result. Letting out a frustrated sigh, he leaned his head back against the wall and pouted up at the ceiling. _Dammit, I can't feel my ass anymore. This totally sucks. _

Suddenly, a loud '_swish'_ caused him to glance towards the infirmary doors in front of him. He felt his heartbeat increase as he spotted his father standing in the doorway, and had to bite back the urge to loudly demand how Virgil was doing. After all, he didn't want to awaken Alan. _Let the kid sleep while he can. He's completely zonked. This rescue took a lot out of him. And beside, it's practically dawn already, it's a ridiculously long time past his bedtime. _

Jeff peered down at his two sons in surprise. He hadn't expected them to be sitting in front of the infirmary doors, especially since both teenagers had looked so exhausted before they had left. But as Jeff studied them, a fond smile formed on his lips as he noticed the position in which they sat. Alan's head was leaning in the crook of Gordon's arm, his older brother's long limb having snaked its way about his shoulders. Gordon's right arm was resting lightly across the front of Alan's chest, holding the sleeping boy gently. Jeff felt a little of the worry ebb away as he regarded them silently for a long moment.

"Dad?" Gordon whispered, being mindful of his snoozing brother. "How is he?"

Jeff stepped forward turned around on the spot, easing himself down onto the floor beside Gordon and leaning his back against the wall. Putting an arm around his copper-haired son, he smiled gently.

"Virgil's gonna be okay," he stated softly. "He's got hairline fractures on four of his ribs, and he's still on the ventilator, but his blood-ox levels are slowly improving. Tom thinks he'll be strong enough to breath on his own in a few more hours."

Gordon sighed in relief, leaning his head against his father's shoulder and closing his eyes briefly. He suddenly felt a terrible exhaustion wash over him, pulling him against his will into the realms of sleep.

"Dad," he mumbled. "We've gotta get Alan to bed."

Jeff smiled and nodded, reaching further around Gordon's shoulders to take most of Alan's weight as the teenager leaned against his hand.

"Stand up, Gordon, I've got him," he said warmly. "You probably wanna go check on your brothers, right? Scott's being his usual stubborn self, by the way. Tom managed to get him to stay still long enough to stitch up his leg, but he's refusing to go to sleep. Tom doesn't want to give him a sedative, but he's gonna have to if Scott keeps this up. Could you please try and persuade him to close his eyes for a bit? I promise, I'll not complain about your practical jokes for a whole week if you manage to get him to get some rest."

Grinning, Gordon carefully extracted his arms from around Alan's body, grasping the younger boy's shoulders to keep him from falling sideways as he slowly stood to his feet. Jeff shuffled over to sit in his vacated spot, allowing Alan to lean against him. The fifteen-year-old grunted softly, beginning to stir in his father's arms. Looking up at Gordon, Jeff mouthed '_Go ahead'_, indicating the infirmary doors with a jerk of his head. Gordon hesitated for a moment, but when he noticed that Alan's eyes were beginning to open, he smiled at his father and turned around on the spot, stepping through the doors as they opened for him.

Jeff glanced down at Alan as his youngest son blinked up at him in confusion, his blue orbs clouded with fatigue. Then his eyes widened suddenly, and his head snapped round to look towards the infirmary doors. Jeff could practically feel his son's heartbeat begin to increase as his slow and steady breathing patterns quickened. Wanting to prevent his baby boy from panicking needlessly, Jeff extracted an arm from around his smaller form and cupped his cheek, brushing his thumb over the skin gently.

"It's alright, Alan," he soothed. "Virgil's just fine. It's okay. Everything's gonna be alright."

And with those words, Jeff suddenly came to the realisation that the worst was indeed over. Although the next few days would no doubt involve struggles and battles of epic proportions, they would pull through. Together as a family, they would overcome any problems that would arise as a result of his sons' injuries. But Jeff didn't care two hoots about the future.

His boys were alive. And right now, that was all that mattered.

* * *

**_Is Jeff right? Will everything be alright? Will Scott finally settle down? Will Jeff managed to get Alan to go to bed? Will the mystery of the cut on Virgil's arm be uncovered? And how will Gordon cope with everything that's happening on Tracy Island? Find out next time!_**

**_Ta-daa! Okay, that's all for today, folks. I hope you enjoyed it. I decided to give you a nice ending to the chapter this time, since I've been cruel with the last two chapters. As always, I only do it because I love you. :^D_**

**_PLEASE REVIEW and yell/scream/laugh/cry..do whatever you want, just as long as I get to know what you thought of the chapter. Hated it? Loved it? I'd like to know. See ya with the next chapter on Friday!_**

**_xoxoxoxoxoxox_**


	21. Chapter 21: Out Of Battery

**_Bonjour!_**

**_Ha! I'm on time. See, I'm not completely hopeless, huh? And besides, it's a Friday, I had to give you something for the weekend. Hope you've all had a good week, and big hugs to all those who sent me all those lovely PMs, you really cheered me up! Thanks for the reviews, too, you guys never fail to make me happy. But I've said it before; thise really isn't doing anything for my ego. Lol._**

**_Special hugs go to 'Wild Dog-untamed canine' for the lovely gift! It made me feel so happy, I decided to fluff up this chapter a little more. You rule, buddy!_**

**_Okay, hyper monologue over. Let's continue..._**

* * *

Thomas Palmar glanced up from his unconscious patient, peering across the room to where Scott sat on one of the beds. The younger man looked pale and exhausted, and was clearly struggling to stay awake. But lo and behold, the famous Tracy stubbornness was at large, and Scott was determined not to fall asleep until Virgil had been taken off the ventilator.

Thomas snorted softly, shaking his head. _Fat chance of that happening. I can't take him off the ventilator until he begins to show some sign of waking up, since he needs to have the strength to breathe on his own. Hopefully, once his blood-ox levels have returned to normal, his state of unconsciousness will lessen slightly, and he'll start exhibiting the signs of primary response. As soon as he's out of the blue, I'll give him the chance to breathe independently. But that might not happen for hours. Scott can't possibly stay awake that long, not with all those pain meds in his system. Dammit, why are all Tracy men so darn stubborn?!_

Suddenly, the doors to the infirmary '_swished'_ open, and Gordon strode into the room. Although there was a smile on his face, Thomas could see through the carefully sculpted mask. Gordon was stressed. And worried. _And exhausted. Poor kid's been through a helluva lot recently. I'm surprised he hasn't already fallen asleep on his feet. I'll have to make sure that he gets himself into bed as soon as possible, or else I might end up with another patient on my hands._

Gordon raised a hand and gave him a small wave, his weary smile widening somewhat. "Hi, doc," he greeted playfully, grinning as Thomas shot him a mock-glare.

"It's _Tom_, Gordon," he sighed dramatically, setting down the hand-held scanner that he had been running over John's prone form. "Please don't tell me that you're suffering from trauma-induced memory loss?"

The copper-haired teenager put on an expression of utter confusion. "Who the heck is Gordon?" he asked incredulously. "I've certainly never heard of the guy. Although it _is_ a very handsome name, don't you think?"

"So's Humphry," Thomas mumbled, loud enough for Gordon to hear. After a moment, the younger man gave up trying to pretend to be offended, and instead let out a soft chuckle. Pleased that he'd been able to lighten up Gordon's mood, Thomas slipped a hand into his pocket and pulled out a penlight, bending back over the bed so that he could continue to assess John's condition.

"Hey Tom, how's he doing?" Gordon whispered, coming to stand at the end of the bed. Thomas looked up again, straightening slightly and shooting a brief glance towards the overhead monitors.

"His vitals are looking good," the doctor stated, running a hand over his chin as he spoke. "His blood pressure could be a little better, but overall I think he got lucky this time. That was one helluva knock he took by the looks of things. But all the scans have come back clear, so there's nothing to worry about. He sustained an extended concussion, with minor bruising to the frontal lobe. He's gonna have headaches for a week or so, but he should be fit for a rotation on-board Five in about three weeks."

Gordon gave a small sigh of relief, reaching down to place a hand on top of John's leg. "And how about his arm?" he pressed, wanting to eliminate any possibility of there being something wrong with his older sibling.

"Severe bruising, and a mildly sprained elbow," Thomas replied, leaning back over the bed and lifting up his penlight. "But nothing's broken. It'll heal within a week or so."

Suddenly, as Thomas gently pried opened one of John's eyelids and shone the penlight towards the blue orb, John let out a pained groan and took in a sharp breath, turning his head away from Thomas' hands. His face was screwed up into a grimace, his eyes squeezed tight shut against the dim light of the infirmary. Gordon's eyes went wide, and he swiftly rounded the side of the bed, putting a hand on John's shoulder.

"John?" he called, as the doctor reached out to cup the astronaut's cheek. "Johnny, can you hear me?"

John shifted slightly beneath the light coverlets, letting out a series of soft grunts as he began to awaken. After what seemed like an eternity, his eyes finally opened, the blue spheres squinting up at Gordon through heavy lids. Gordon smiled, taking John's hand in his and giving it a squeeze.

"Hey, Johnny," he murmured, watching Thomas out of the corner of his eye as the older man reached over to the metal trolley to retrieve something. "How're you feeling, bro?"

John closed his eyes momentarily, letting out a few more grunts as his face morphed into another pained grimace. "Ouch," he admitted softly.

Gordon nodded sympathetically. "Yeah, I thought as much."

Wincing up at his younger brother again, John blinked a few times in an attempt to clear his vision. "Wha' happened?" he mumbled.

"You decided to have an argument with a lump of concrete," Thomas explained softly, leaning back over John's body and putting a hand on his shoulder. "And I'm afraid to say that the concrete won. Game, set and match."

John just grunted in acknowledgement, closing his eyes again. "M'heads killing me," he whispered. "Light's too bright."

Thomas picked the syringe that he had retrieved from the trolley, taking up John's arm gently and turning it over so that the feed-valve on the IV line was facing upwards. Uncapping the needle, he inserted it into a small bottle full of clear liquid.

"John, I'm gonna give you a little shot of morphine to help with the pain," he said softly. "I'm just gonna push it into your drip, okay?

John grimaced, shaking his head and pulling his arm out of Thomas' grasp. "No," he muttered weakly. "No shots. Don't....don't want-"

"Hey, hey, easy, easy," Thomas soothed, taking John's arm again gently. "I'm not gonna give you a real shot, buddy. I'm just gonna push the drugs into your IV line, okay? It'll be over before you know it."

As the doctor carefully inserted the tip of the needle into the valve, Gordon reached down to cup John's cheek. Weary aqua-blue eyes peered up at him, bloodshot and heavy-lidded, but more focused than they had been before. He smiled reassuringly at his older brother, knowing from experience that a familiar face was the greatest comfort you could receive when you were in John's position.

"Not feelin' so good, huh Johnny?" he murmured.

John's eyes locked with his, the pain and fatigue tugging at Gordon's heartstrings. As it had done with Alan, his protective nature seemed to kick it's way to the surface, and before he knew what he was doing, Gordon had begun to run his hand over John's blond hair. It was matted near the forehead, where the blood had dried and congealed, but Gordon paid little heed to that. Like Alan, John had no other brother to turn to. And so Gordon felt it his duty to look after his older sibling - at least for the time being.

"Okay, pal, let's have a look at those eyes of yours," Thomas said gently, taking out his penlight again and reaching over to cup John's cheek. "Look at me for a sec, buddy. That's it, good job."

Satified with the results, Thomas smiled softly. Slipping the penlight back into his pocket, the older man straightened up slightly, his left hand resting gently atop John's chest. "Get some sleep, Johnny," he instructed warmly. "We'll be here when you wake up."

John's eyes slid closed slowly, and moments later Gordon felt his older brother's muscles relax against the mattress. He watched John's sleeping form for a few moments, content in the knowledge that the astronaut was going to be alright. Grumpy, sore and irritable - yes. But at least he was no longer in any danger.

"Gordon?"

Gordon spun round on the spot, his eyes locking onto the bed on the other side of the room. His eldest sibling was staring at him in surprise and weary confusion, a slight frown tugging at his pale face. Sharing a look with Thomas, Gordon strode towards the other bed, plastering a friendly smile onto his face.

"Hey, Scott," he greeted cheerfully. "How's the leg?"

Scott blinked at him as he stepped up to lean against the bedside. "When - when did you get here?" he asked, clearly trying to work out the science behind his younger brother's apparent ability to teleport from once place to the other.

"About five minutes ago, Scooter," Gordon stated, feeling slightly worried about Scott's unobservent behavior. Usually, very little indeed would be able to slip by unnoticed when Scott was around.

"Really?" Scott asked softly, glancing towards the door. Then he rubbed his uninjured hand over his face and shook his head. "Damn drugs," he muttered.

Gordon frowned slightly, his eyes running over Scott's pale features, and the massive bags beneath his cobalt-blue eyes. Scott let out a sigh and turned to look at him, an identical frown of concern appearing on his face.

"You should be in bed, Gords," he said quietly, reaching out to squeeze the younger man's arm. "It's pretty late."

"Actually, it's pretty early," Gordon corrected, glancing down at his watch. "It's past four o'clock in the morning. And besides, I'm not the one who needs to sleep; you are."

Scott shook his head. "I'm fine," he murmured.

"Scott, that wasn't a suggestion," Gordon replied evenly. Scott looked over at him and raised an eyebrow.

"You're giving me an order, then?" he asked mildly. "Sorry, kid, but I'm still the field commander here."

Gordon shook his head. "Nope, wrong. You lost your authority on medical grounds because you were incapable of leading a rescue team with half your leg sliced off."

Scott leaned back against the pillows, shaking his head wearily. "That's kind of an exaggeration, Gordo," he smiled, closing his eyes momentarily. "But nice try. Besides, Dad's in charge now that we're back at base."

"Then how come you didn't listen to him when he ordered you to lie down and go to sleep?" Thomas inquired softly, smiling over from where he had been jotting down notes on his hand-held datapad.

Scott opened his eyes again and sat up a little straighter. "Because I don't need sleep," he insisted. "It's just these darn drugs making me feel drowsy. I'll be fine in an hour or so."

"Yeah, and I might become 'Miss America'," Thomas muttered. Gordon let out an amused snort at the doctor's comment, shaking his head slightly as he rested his hands on the mattress and leaned against the bed.

"Why don't I get you something to eat first?" Gordon offered. "Onaha left a plate of chocolate-chip cookies in the kitchen for us so that we could replenish out energy levels once we'd gotten home from the rescue. D'you want me to go grab you a couple?"

Scott smiled slightly, looking thoughtful. "Cookies do sound good," he reasoned, pausing momentarily. Then he sighed, shaking his head. "But not right now, Gords. I'm not really very hungry."

Gordon let out a small sigh. He knew that Scott was blaming himself. Dammit, the guilt was pouring out of him like a burst pipe. But he could also see the familiar pattern of unintentional self-abuse that was beginning to form. True, it wasn't exactly enough to cause damage, but it was still worrying. If Scott were allowed to do things his way, he wouldn't eat, sleep or drink until all of his brothers were conscious and out of harm's way - regardless of the effects his actions had on his own body. And Gordon wasn't about to let that happen. At least not when Scott was under _his_ watchful eye.

"Listen, Scotty," he began softly, perching on the edge of the mattress. "Dad's stressed enough as it is. He's worried about you, okay? He just doesn't want you to end up collapsing, like-" he paused, swallowing down the lump that had risen in his throat. "Like Virgil did. Just get some sleep, alright? Please? For Dad's sake."

When Scott refused to reply, Gordon balled his hands into fists and dropped his head, feeling the stress rising within him. "Dammit, Scotty, please don't do this to yourself," he whispered. "I can't cope with having all three of you like this!"

Gordon sensed a movement beside him, and tensed momentarily as two large arms encircled his slight frame.

"Hey, it's okay," Scott murmured, and Gordon slowly felt himself relaxing against him. "Virgil's gonna be fine. John's gonna be fine. We're _all _gonna be fine, Gordo. Right, Tom?"

"Right," the doctor agreed, stepping away from John's bed and moving over to check on Virgil. "His vitals still have room for improvement, but he hasn't been showing signs of traumatic retraction, which - to be perfectly honest - I had been expecting, considering the severity of his pneumothorax."

"What's 'traumatic retraction'?" Gordon asked, sitting up a little straighter and allowing his older brother to keep an arm slung around his shoulders.

"Traumatic retraction," Thomas began, shining his penlight in Virgil's eyes as he spoke. "Occurs when a lung - or a specific area of the plural cavity - suffers from an injury of some sort. If the fibrous tissues within the muscles have been damaged, this can often cause what's more commonly known as a 'secondary pneumothorax'. They aren't anywhere near as serious as a tension pneumothorax, but they're certainly something to watch out for. Especially since Virgil's lungs are rather weak at the moment."

"So what do we do if he has one of these 'traumatic retractions'?" Scott inquired, waking up a little more as he gazed at the unconscious form of his younger brother.

"Well, the chest tube that I inserted earlier will allow me to reduce the pressure within the plural cavity," Thomas continued, reaching over to the metal trolley beside Virgil's bed and pulling on a pair of surgical gloves. "So there's really nothing to worry about. He's gonna be fine. I just need to clean up this gash on his arm, and then I'm gonna want to take a look at that hand of yours, Gordon."

Scott pulled away from his younger brother slightly, taking Gordon's hand in his and frowning at the nasty cut that ran from the top of his wrist to the centre of his knuckle. Gordon merely looked at it in mild fascination, reflecting on how easily he had forgotten about the minor injury. _Well, I **did** kinda get distracted when Virge collapsed. I didn't even feel it until just now. Man, I must be tired._

"Where'd you get this?" Scott asked softly, running his fingers along the jagged edge of the cut.

"Right after the earthquake," Gordon replied, wincing as Scott pressed a little too hard. Pulling his hand away, he rubbed it slightly. "I think I sliced it when I fell. I'm still trying to figure out if it happened before or after the canister exploded. I think it was after. Anyway, it doesn't matter. It's not exactly deep. And don't sweat it, Tom, I'll just slap a disinfectant band-aid on it. It'll be fine."

Thomas raised his index finger and shook it from side to side, not looking up from his work as he sat at Virgil's beside and inspected the wound on his arm. "Nuh-uh, kiddo. You know the rules. The medical officer has to check over every bump and scrape, and that includes the one on your hand."

"But Tom," Gordon began, a tiny hint of a whine in his voice. "It's just a little-"

"Nope," Thomas interrupted, peering more intently at the gash of Virgil's arm. "Not gonna work. Now shush, I'm trying to concentrate. Honestly, you're just as bad as you were when I had to clean up your scuffed knees as a kid. Man, you were so cute back then. I've still got a photo of you sitting on your Dad's knee, grinning from ear to ear because I gave you the red bandages on your knees."

Gordon felt a blush creep onto his face, and Scott let out a fond chuckle. Then the aquanaut smiled slightly, giving a small shrug and letting out a sigh as he allowed his gaze to drift over to John's bed. The room was silent for a moment, other than the constant '_whoosh-hiss' _of the ventilator, and Gordon felt himself growing sleepier, the rhythm of the single noise lulling him into a calm and peaceful state of mind.

"What the-?"

Gordon blinked, snapping out of his daze and turning to look at Thomas, who was frowning at Virgil's wound. He immediately felt his heartbeat begin to quicken as the familiar sense of dread rose within his chest.

"What is it, what's wrong?" he demanded worriedly, feeling Scott tense beside him.

"There's something embedded in the wound," Thomas mumbled, almost to himself. "It's small but - but I can't honestly tell from this angle. I'm gonna have to run a couple of biothermal scans to see if I can pinpoint a foreign body in there."

Gordon exchanged a worried glance with his eldest sibling, and Scott tightened his hold around Gordon's shoulder. Gordon sighed, shaking his head slightly. There would certainly be no point in trying to get Scott to go to sleep at the moment. Until they had discovered what was wrong with Virgil's arm, both Tracy-sons wouldn't allow themselves to become distracted by anything.

Not even cookies.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... .. ... ... .. ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Jeff smiled softly as he ran a hand through Alan's hair, gazing into the young teenager's peaceful face as Alan dozed against his side. He hadn't intended to let Alan fall asleep again, but it wasn't as if he'd been able to prevent it. The kid had been exhausted. After Jeff had assured him that everything was alright, and had given Alan a brief explanation about Virgil's condition, the boy had literally run out of battery. And Jeff hadn't had the heart to wake him. However, they'd been sitting slumped against the wall for a good fifteen minutes now, and it was beginning to get uncomfortable.

Letting a resigned sigh, Jef sat up a little straighter, giving Alan a gentle shake. His youngest son grunted, taking in a sudden breath and opening his bloodshot eyes, squinting up at his father. Jeff smiled and ruffled Alan's hair.

"C'mon, kiddo," he murmured. "Let's get you into bed, hmm?"

Alan sat up a little straighter, blinking the sleep out of his vision as he shot a hesitant glance towards the door.

"Can't I stay?" he asked softly, his voice muffled with fatigue. "I wanna be here when Virgil wakes up."

Jeff shook his head, squeezing Alan's shoulder. "You need to sleep, Alan," he stated. "It's been a long night. For all of us. You can see Virgil and the others tomorrow, they're not going anywhere."

Alan turned his head back to the side and gazed up at his father, a pathetic 'puppy-dog' expression upon his face. Jeff grinned, shaking his head.

"It ain't gonna work on me, son," he drawled, his voice lined with amusement. Alan frowned slightly, his bottom lip jutting out in a way that it hadn't done in years. Jeff chuckled softly. "Pouting isn't gonna get you anywhere, either. C'mon - bed."

Jeff stood to his feet carefully, stretching his cramped muscles and rotating his shoulder to allow the blood to flow back into his arm where Alan had been leaning against him. He glanced back down at Alan, rolling his eyes when he noticed that his youngest son had already closed his eyes again.

"Alan," he called softly, smiling when the teenager squinted up at him. "Don't make me carry you."

Letting out a weary sigh, Alan pressed his hands against the floor, slowly pushing himself to his feet. Jeff was forced to reach out and grab him by the arms as he toppled sideways, his fatigue affecting his balance. Putting an arm around his son's shoulder, Jeff steered him slowly down the corridor, being careful not to walk too fast. Alan was practically sleep-walking, his eyes drooping closed as he stumbled down the main corridor towards the staircase that lead to the right wing of the house. Jeff was grateful that they managed to make it up the stairs without any unfortunate tumbles occurring, since Alan didn't seem to be paying much attention to where he was going. But at last, they arrived at the door to Alan's bedroom.

"Alright, son, you go on in and get changed into your PJs," Jeff instructed, opening the door and giving Alan a gentle push so that he moved forwards. "I'll be back in a couple of mintues. Try to keep your eyes open until I get back, okay?"

At Alan's weary nod, Jeff pulled the door closed, leaving Alan alone in the quiet bedroom. Rubbing a hand over his face wearily, the teenager stumbled over to his bed, sitting down on the edge of the mattress and blinking in an attempt to moisten his dry, stinging eyes.

_Man, I'm tired. I really can't bothered to change. Why couldn't I have just slept in the corridor outside the infirmary. It was perfectly comfortable there. And it was close to Virge and the guys. I really wanted to stay near them so that I'd be able to check on them whenever I wanted to. But I guess Dad's right, I do need to get some sleep. Man, it's already past four o'clock in the morning! I've never gone on a rescue that lasted this long before. I wonder what's the longest mission Scott and the other guys have been on?..._

Snapping out of his own thoughts with a slight jump, Alan remembered that he was supposed to be doing something. Letting out another sigh, he mustered up what little was left of his energy reserves, standing to his feet slowly and stumbling slightly as a wave of dizziness washed over him. Shaking his head in an attempt to clear the thick fog out of his mind, he reached up to rub at his temples. Man, his head was sure starting to ache. He really did need to sleep.

Eventually, although he did not quite know how he managed to find the energy to do so, Alan had managed to get changed into a light pair or pyjama shorts and T-shirt. He sat back down on his bed heavily, putting his head in his hands and pushing the tips of his fingers against his closed eyelids as he tried with all his might to fight off the fatigue that threatened to pull him back into the land of dreams. His mind began to wonder, his body feeling lighter and lighter as the last tendrils of his energy started to slip from his grasp.

Suddenly, he felt the bed dip beside him, and he glanced up in surprise. His father smiled back at him softly, and Alan had to blink several times to clear the fuzziness out of his vision. He sat up a little straighter, his gaze dropping to the objects in Jeff's hands.

"Wha's'at for?" he asked, his voice sounding muffled. Jeff held out the glass of water to him, waiting until Alan had a firm grip on it before letting go. As he began to open the bottle of ibuprofen, he answered,

"You're gonna get dehydrated if you're not careful. And I can tell that you've got a whopper of a headache. I'm not gonna let you get sick again so soon after getting better. Here, hold out your hand."

As Alan obeyed wordlessly, he glanced up at his father. Jeff was concentrating too hard on shaking two of the small pills into Alan's hand to notice, but Alan didn't need to look into his father's eyes to know that the Tracy patriarch was concerned about him. The usual worry lines were always easy to pick up - especially since Alan had seen them on numerous occasions throughout the Summer break. Although he tried not to smother him too much, Alan knew that his dad was still as worried as he had ever been about his 'baby' boy's welfare.

Alan swallowed the pills, discovering that he had been more thirsty than he had first thought as the cool water soothed his parched mouth. Letting out a long sigh, Alan handed the empty glass back to his father. Jeff set it down on the bedside table momentarily, taking Alan by the arm and pushing him gently towards the top-end of the bed. Alan felt his arm throb suddenly, and automatically pulled away. Jeff was immediately alert, a worried frown now making itself prominent upon his face.

"What's wrong?" he demanded, concern lining his voice. Alan shook his head, rubbing his arm and glancing down at the floor.

"Nothing," he murmured. "Just a bruise."

"Let me see," Jeff instructed, moving closer to Alan's side and extending a hand towards him. Alan sighed in resignation, holding up his arm and allowing his father to take it gently in his hands.

Jeff winced as he saw the long line of blue and purple bruises that lined the underside of Alan's arm, running from his elbow to his wrist. Running his thumbs over the skin carefully, he searched for any areas of excessive swelling, relieved when he found none.

"Satisfied, commander?" Alan asked, his weary-but-cheeky grin bringing a smile to Jeff's face.

"Watch it, short-stuff," he warned playfully. "Or you'll be on checklist duty for a month."

"Go back to school in three weeks," Alan reminded him, before letting out a yawn that threatened to split his jaw in two. Jeff smiled again, releasing Alan's arm and pulling him in for a gentle one-armed hug. There was a short moment of comfortable silence, before Alan asked a question that had been poking at him from the back of his weary mind.

"Hey Dad?" he began, leaning his head on his father's shoulder.

"Mmm-hmm?" the older Tracy inquired, glancing down at what he could see of his son's face.

"If something - if something happens to Virge or - or to one of the other guys whilst I'm still asleep," he continued softly, biting his bottom lip. "You'll come get me, right?"

Jeff frowned slightly, pushing Alan away from his shoulder and turning around on the bed so that he was facing the teenager.

"Alan, listen to me," he said softly, cupping Alan's face with both his hands. "Nothing's going to happen to your brothers, alright? Don't worry about it. They're in good hands. Tom's taking good care of them. I promise, Al, everything's okay. Honest."

Alan nodded mutely, feeling his resistance shatter as his walls crumbled. If he had felt exhausted before, it was nothing in comparison with the way that he felt at present. He was completely and utterly shattered. His father pulled him into his chest, wrapping his arms around Alan's smaller frame firmly and putting a hand on the back of his head. Then a soft kiss was planted in Alan's hair, and his dad pulled away again.

"Alright," he said, smiling softly. "Time for bed, sport. I don't wanna see you up for at least eight hours, got it?"

There was nothing left within Alan to argue with, so he complied willingly, not even complaining when his father pulled the duvet over him and leaned down to ruffle his hair. With a final tender caress, Jeff stood to his feet, striding towards the door and turning the handle.

"'Night, Dad," Alan called wearily, as his father waved a hand over the sensor and the lights switched off. Jeff's silhouette appeared in the doorway, his frame outlines by the light that streamed forth from the corridor.

"Goodnight, son," Jeff replied, before pulling the door slowly closed behind him, leaving the room in almost complete darkness. For the first time in a long while, Alan was thankful that his drapes were such a dark shade of blue.

Putting a hand beneath his head, Alan wrapped the other arm around the duvet, pulling it close to his body as he rolled onto his side and closed his eyes. Letting out a weary sigh, he allowed himself to relax. Everything would be alright, just as his dad had promised. There was nothing to worry about.

And with that comforting thought, Alan Tracy drifted off to sleep.

* * *

**_Alan has finally settled down, but what about the other two conscious Tracy boys? Will they be willing to lie down and rest, or will there stubbornness get the better of them? And how serious is Virgil's injury? How much damage could have been caused by a 'foreign object'? Find out soon!_**

**_Okay, folks, that's it for today. Thanks for taking the time to read the chapter. I hope you all enjoyed it. PLEASE REVIEW and make me an even happier bunny than I am right now! Although, of course, concrit is always welcomed and appreciated (hint hint, t-d!). The next chapter should be out on Monday or Tueday, depending on how real life decides to treat me. If it plays fair, then Monday. If not - well, you can guess. Lol._**

**_Laters!_**

**_xoxoxoxoxoxox_**


	22. Chap22: Healing Hearts and Helping Hands

**_Brrrr! It's cold!_**

**_I just got back from my friend's b-day party, and the walk up the driveway and through the front garden nearly froze my butt off! Maybe I should take my gran's advice and where thermal underwear? Lol._**

**_Thanks for all the great reviews, I'm glad that you're all still enjoying the story. The concrit and comments were really helpful, and as always, I appreciated every word!Well, as promised, I am now here with the next dose of Tracy family action/fluff/torture...whichever word you think best describes it._**

**_Enjoy!_**

* * *

Scott blinked as he peered down at the small object in the metal tray, feeling a grimace slide onto his face as he studied its jagged blood-coated edges. Swallowing, he looked up at Thomas, clearing his throat slightly before he attempted to speak.

"_That_ was in his arm?" he asked incredulously. "How the heck did I miss _that_?"

Thomas smiled sadly, setting the tray down on the metal trolley beside Scott's bed, before making his way back over to where Virgil lay. "It was pushed in pretty deep, Scotty," he replied. "It's presence wasn't exactly obvious."

As doctor arrived at Virgil's bedside, he glanced up at the monitors momentarily, before reaching up to tap the drip valve on the neck of the IV line, making sure that it was still functioning efficiently. Satisfied that all was in order, he turned back towards Scott's bed and smiled warmly, his calm expression relieving a little of the tension from the atmosphere.

"I've hooked him up to a cycle of strong antibiotics," he stated. "Just to ensure that an infection doesn't set in."

Beside Scott, Gordon shifted in his perched position on the edge of the mattress, a frown upon his face.

"Did it cause any serious damage?" he inquired softly, his eyes darting over to where his older brother lay on the other side of the room.

"It punctured his lateral tricep muscle," Thomas stated, pulling off his surgical gloves and running a hand through his hair as he strode back over to Scott's bed. "But it looks as though he got lucky again this time; it only just missed his deltoid nerve. I've sutured the wound closed, but he's gonna need to rest his arm for a couple of weeks to give the muscles a chance to heal."

Scott sighed wearily, gazing at the white bandage that was now wrapped securely around Virgil's upper-arm. "I knew he was in pain," he murmured. "But I never thought it was _this_bad. Dammit, I should've examined his arm myself."

Thomas put a comforting hand on Scott's shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze as he smiled down at the younger man warmly. "This isn't your fault, Scott," he soothed. "You couldn't have done anything to stop this. These things just happen sometimes."

Scott nodded mutely, although inwardly he didn't want to agree with the doctor. He didn't want to believe that this sort of thing could 'just happen' at any point in time. Because, if that were the case, then the safety of his brothers was way beyond his control. And that realisation scared him half to death. Scott needed to know that he had the ability to protect his younger siblings, no matter what came their way.

"How d'you think it got in there?" Gordon inquired, leaning over Scott's legs to peer at the item on the trolley. Scott blinked himself out of his daze, his curiosity spiking as Thomas rubbed hand over his chin thoughtfully.

"Well," the doctor reasoned. "The angle of entry - and the minor bruising around the wound - suggest that either Virgil fell directly onto something, or something fell onto _him_. It's impossible to tell which. All I know is that it must have hit him with a great deal of force, considering how deep the shard was buried within his muscle."

Scott nodded again, glaring at the bloody metallic object on the tray. It was no more than an inch in length, one sharp end jagged and pointed, the other end flat and smooth. It seemed to be no thicker than a piece of paper; an object that would be hard to spot if turned on its side. Scott sighed again, shaking his head.

__

No wonder Virge couldn't see it. Heck, it took Tom over a minute to spot it in there, and he had a better view of the wound. I'm being stupid; I would never have been able to see that thing, even if I **had** examined Virgil's arm in the danger zone.

Gordon suddenly let out a jaw-splitting yawn, stretching his arms out to the side and wincing, rotating his shoulders carefully. Scott frowned, putting a hand between his younger brother's shoulder blades and rubbing in gentle circular motions.

"Your back okay?" he asked softly, trying to keep the worry out of his voice. Gordon turned to look at him, blinking wearily as he nodded his head.

"Yeah, it's fine," he replied. "I'm just a little stiff."

Scott smiled sympathetically, patting his brother on the back affectionately. "You need to go lie down, sport," he instructed gently.

"I agree," Thomas interjected, pulling up a chair to Gordon's side of the bed. "So let me take a peek at that hand of yours, and then it's off to bed with you."

Gordon sighed in resignation, holding out his hand so that Thomas could inspect the gash. After a few moments of gentle prodding and finger-wiggling, the doctor looked up and smiled.

"That all seems fine, kiddo," he stated, standing to his feet and moving over to one of the cupboards on the far side of the room. "I'll just clean in up for you."

Thomas made quick work of disinfecting and dressing the cut and, in what seemed to Gordon like less than a minute, the long gash had been efficiently cleaned and covered. Thomas pulled off the pair of surgical gloves he had been wearing, slapping his hands down on his knees and beaming up at the two Tracy-sons.

"Okay, all done," he said cheerfully, standing to his feet again and pushing the chair away with the back of his legs. Scott smiled at him gratefully, before reaching over and giving Gordon a gentle shove.

"Bedtime, Gords," he murmured.

Gordon turned to look at him, raising an eyebrow and fixing him with a steady gaze. After a few seconds of silence, Scott became slightly disgruntled. He had expected to get _this_ look from his dad, Thomas, Virgil – even John. But from Gordon? Never. It felt...wrong.

"What?" he asked, frowning in confusion. Gordon merely continued to stare at him, and Scott shifted uncomfortably. His younger brother was seriously beginning to creep him out. "Gordon, what?!"

Gordon calmly crossed his arms over his chest, turning away from Scott so that he was perched on the very edge of the mattress, his feet pressed against the floor and his gaze fixed solidly on the door. "I'm not goin' to bed until you close your eyes and get some rest," he stated flatly.

Scott opened and closed his mouth for a second, unsure of what to do. _Darn it, I really don't have the energy to argue with Gordon right now. But I can't just let the kid stand there, he needs to rest. Just look at him, he's exhausted. _Out of options, he turned to Thomas, who was regarding the both of them with a slightly amused expression upon his face.

"Tom, tell him he needs to go to bed," Scott pleaded, shocked at just how whiny he sounded when he was tired. _Man, that was totally not my voice. _

Thomas raised his hands and shook his head. "Oh no, I'm staying outta this one," he smiled. "I value my life."

Scott glanced back at Gordon, who was still leaning casually against the side of the bed as peered up at the ceiling. Letting out a frustrated sigh, Scott ran his uninjured hand through his hair and allowed his gaze to drop down to his lap.

"Fine, I'll go to sleep," he mumbled. Gordon spun around in the spot, looking surprised.

"Seriously?" he asked, the shock evident in his voice.

Scott smiled, nodding as he tugged at the neck of his loose T-shirt, rotating the crick out of his neck. "Seriously," he confirmed.

Gordon sighed, relief plastered across his face, only half concealed by the goofy grin that had engulfed his mouth. Thomas stepped up behind him and put a hand on the redhead's shoulder.

"Good," he smiled. "Then I won't have to use _this_."

He held up a capped hypodermic needle, the syringe - filled with a clear liquid - glinting maliciously in the dim glow of the overhead lights. Scott frowned, eyeing the object with distaste. _Sedatives. Yuck. _

Picking up the remote that was attached to the side of the bed, Thomas pressed the controls to lower the top-end of the bed back down again. Scott found the experience of being lowered rather disorientating, and closed his eyes against the dizzying sensation. As soon as he heard the locks '_click'_ into place, he opened his eyes again, Gordon's weary face appearing directly above him. The younger Tracy smiled down at him sleepily.

"G'night, grumpy," he said, jokingly. Scott frowned moodily, but gave up the act and smiled, reaching up to ruffle his brother's hair. It was a strange sensation; having to stretch _upwards_ to do that. It just didn't feel right.

"G'night, fish-feet," he replied, feeling his eyelids begin to close. Thomas appeared beside Gordon, smiling down at Scott warmly as he clamped a hand down on the aquanaut's shoulder.

"C'mon, cutie-pie," he grinned. "Let's leave your brother alone to get his beauty sleep."

Gordon frowned. "What did you just call me?"

Thomas chuckled, shaking his head as he guided Gordon towards the door. "Nothing, Nemo. Now c'mon - bedtime. I don't wanna see you back in here for at least six hours, okay?"

Gordon turned to look at the older man, a pathetic look upon his face. "But what if I fall over and split my head open?" he inquired.

"Under such drastic circumstances, I would allow you to return to the infirmary," the doctor replied calmly, patting Gordon on the back. "But until then; goodnight."

As Gordon turned back around to step through the open infirmary doors, Thomas caught his arm. "Oh, and Gords?"

Gordon glanced back over his shoulder, his bloodshot eyes focusing on the older man's smiling face. "Yeah?"

"If you see your Dad, tell him I'd like to talk to him," the doctor said softly. "In Virgil's room."

Gordon frowned slightly. "About what?"

"That for me to know," Thomas replied, smirking secretively. "And for you to know that I know. Now go on, off with you."

"Yes sir, doctor, sir," Gordon said cheekily, and Thomas gave him a gently shove out into the corridor. Then, turning back towards the only conscious patient in the room, he strode over to Scott's bedside and peered into the exhausted face of the eldest Tracy child. Scott blinked up at him questioningly.

"Is everything okay?" he asked, pushing himself up onto his elbows. "What are you gonna talk to Dad about? Is it about Virgil?"

Thomas rolled his eyes, pushing Scott pack down again gently. "Relax, Scott," he soothed. "Nothing's wrong, I just wanna have a chat with your old man about something. Now close your eyes and go to sleep. I'm just gonna slip out for a five minutes or so."

Scott frowned, pushing himself back up again. "But – but," he argued, shaking his head to wake himself back up again. "One of us needs to keep an eye on Virgil and John."

Thomas put his hands on Scott's shoulder and pushed him down once more, this time keeping his hands there for a few seconds as he peered into Scott's eyes. "Scott," he said firmly. "Go. To. Sleep."

"But, the guys-" Scott protested.

"Are gonna be just fine," Thomas interjected. "If either one of them deteriorates even in the slightest, the diagnostic alarms will go off. And the alarms have been linked to the transmitter in my watch, so I'll know the second that anything goes wrong. It'll take me approximately five seconds to get from Virgil's bedroom to the infirmary, since it's just across the hallway. Everything's under control, okay?"

Scott finally allowed himself to relax, letting out a small sigh of resignation. "Yeah," he murmured. "Okay."

Thomas smiled, patting his shoulder. "Then I'll see you later, kiddo. Just close your eyes and get some sleep, alright?"

Scott nodded, closing his heavy eyelids and letting out a long sigh. He shifted slightly, the material of his shorts rubbing against his legs as he tried to find a comfortable position. He wasn't used to sleeping on his back, and wanted more than anything to roll onto his side. But the pillow beneath his bandaged leg prevented him from doing so. He let out a short puff of frustration. _This totally sucks._

Trying to relax against the soft mattress, he attempted to clear his mind. However, with the onslaught of guilty thoughts and images flashing before his mind's eye, it was a near impossible task. Scott let out a long sigh, opening his eyes again and staring dully at the ceiling. His body had been screaming at him for the last couple of hours to lie down and rest; but now that he had finally done so, sleep was proving to be exceedingly elusive.

And Scott knew the reason why. He just couldn't shake the crushing feeling of guilt that had settled in his chest. It was poking at him from the forefront of his mind, dominating his every thought and keeping him from relaxing completely. And that steady, taunting '_whoosh-hiss'_ of the ventilator was just rubbing salt in his already smarting wound.

Sighing, he frowned, reaching up to run a hand over his face. He couldn't go to sleep, not yet. There was something he had to do first.

"One, two....three!" he grunted, gritting his teeth as he pushed himself up onto his elbows. Feeling his weak limbs protesting the strain, Scott wondered momentarily if he was going to be able to carry out his plan. Then his eyes fell upon the form of his unconscious younger brother, and his resolve hardened. Sitting up slowly, he gripped onto the edge of the mattress and gently swung his legs over the side of the bed so that he sat facing Virgil. Taking a steadying breath, he carefully set his feet down onto the floor.

_See? I can do this. It's not that hard._He smiled weakly, standing up and keeping a firm grip on the mattress. Putting the majority of his weight on his uninjured leg, he released his hold on the bed and took a small step forwards. The world span alarmingly as his legs nearly crumpled beneath him, and he reached back to grab hold of the bed-frame, breathing heavily. Frowning in weary annoyance, he glared at the space of floor that stretched out in front of him.

Suddenly, the gap between the two beds seemed a whole lot bigger.

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Jeff walked swiftly down the staircase, running a hand through his hair and letting out a long sigh. He was stressed, he knew that. More stressed than he had been in a long while. He'd been trying his best to hide it from his boys, of course, but that didn't alter the fact that the stress was still _there_, making Jeff's heart beat loudly in his chest and giving him enough adrenaline to keep him awake for at least the next fortnight.

Shaking his head and quickening his pace even more, Jeff looked down at his feet as he began to walk down the corridor. He needed time to think things through. He needed to spend some time alone so that he could mull over what had happened over the past eight hours. Letting out a weary sigh, Jeff glanced upwards - and collided forcefully with a tall copper-haired figure. Jeff took a step backwards and reached out a hand to steady himself against the wall. The other figure tumbled backwards and hit the floor like a sack of potatoes.

"Gordon!" Jeff exclaimed, recovering his senses and dropping down beside his fallen son. "You okay?"

Gordon sighed, shaking his head sadly as he stared up at the ceiling. "Why does it feel like I've spent most of the evening falling on my ass?" he asked himself lightly. "This really isn't fair, you know. Alan's supposed to be the clumsy one, not me."

Jeff grinned, standing back up again and extending a hand downwards to help Gordon stand.

"Sorry, son," he apologised warmly. "I wasn't looking where I was going."

Gordon smiled, sitting up and accepting his father's proffered hand. Once Jeff had helped him to his feet, he reached back to rub at his bruised behind.

"Don't sweat it, Dad, I wasn't exactly paying attention either," he replied calmly. "And besides, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. So I guess that I'm just gonna have to make do with an ass of steel now, huh?"

Jeff laughed, clapping Gordon on the shoulder. Then he gave into temptation, putting his arms around the copper-haired teenager's slighter frame and hugging him tightly. Gordon stood still for a moment, slightly surprised at the spontaneity of the embrace, but he soon wrapped his own arms around his Dad's back and returned the embrace.

"You did great this evening, you know that?" Jeff murmured, as Gordon sighed contentedly. "You've handled everything with a maturity and calmness that I wouldn't even have expected from Scott. You kept a cool head, even when the situation was at its worse." Pushing Gordon away from him slightly, he gripped his son's arms and smiled. "I'm proud of you, Gordon."

Gordon grinned, trying to hide his blush as he cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair. "Well, don't get used to this whole 'mature-Gordon' thing," he remarked. "It ain't gonna last much longer."

Jeff smiled slightly, although his attention had shifted to the white dressing that covered the top of Gordon's hand. His smile faded somewhat.

"You're hurt," he stated softly, taking Gordon's hand in his and running his thumb over the dressing.

"Nah, I'm fine, " Gordon said dismissively, waving off his concerns. "It's just a little scratch. Tom's already scrutinised it, so there's no need to worry. He did it right after - after-"

A huge yawn cut off the rest of his sentence, and he covered his mouth, shaking his head and blinking away the fatigue. Jeff smiled at him fondly, ruffling his copper locks and turning him towards the staircase at the other end of the corridor.

"Bedtime, kiddo," he instructed gently. Gordon sighed in resignation, giving his father a half-hearted wave as he began to walk away. However, before he had taken two steps down the corridor, he held up his index finger and turned back around again.

"Oh, Tom wanted me to tell you that he needs to have a chat with you in Virgil's room," he stated. Jeff raised a questioningly eyebrow.

"A chat about what?" he inquired.

Gordon shrugged, beginning to walk backwards swiftly towards the stairs. "Don't ask me," he replied casually. "He was being all secretive. He wouldn't tell me anything!"

Jeff grinned at the slightly whiny tone to Gordon's voice. Then he frowned, noticing that Gordon was about to walk into the small wooden table that stood against the wall beside the bottom of the stairs.

"Gordon," he warned. "Look out for the ta-"

"Oomph!"

"-ble," Jeff finished, trying to hide his smile as Gordon rubbed at his rear-end where the corner of the table had connected solidly with the already bruised flesh.

"I'm such a dork," Gordon moaned, looking for all his 'maturity' like a sulking five-year-old. "What the heck is wrong with me?"

Jeff grinned. "It's because you're tired, kiddo," he stated. "Go grab some shut-eye before you break something."

As Gordon bid him goodnight and began to ascend the stairs, Jeff turned around on the spot and started walking off down the corridor.

"Oh, and Dad?"

Jeff paused, glancing back over his shoulder at his second-youngest child "Yes, son?"

"No more coffee, okay?" Gordon smirked, his bloodshot eyes twinkling merrily.

"Goodnight, Gordon," Jeff sighed, pretending to ignore the comment as he turned back around again and strode off in the opposite direction, a massive grin on his face. He smiled happily, realising that his heart felt a lot lighter than he had done before. A little of the stress had elevated, and he found that things didn't seem quite so dim anymore. Gordon had done it again.

_He may add an extra grey hair to my head almost every day with all the pranks he pulls on the other boys. But I gotta admit; without Gordon, life in the Tracy household would be very dull indeed._

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Scott all but collapsed into the chair at the bedside, breathing heavily as leaned his arms against the side of the mattress and allowed his head to fall into his hands. Never had he imagined that the simple task of walking less than ten feet across the room would've taken so much out of him. But then again, he had never pictured himself doing so with a weak and half-numbed leg.

Raising his head, he wiped the back of his hand over his sweaty forehead, blinking away the black dots that had begun to flash before his eyes. Perhaps walking whilst he was injured had been a bad idea. However, as he looked up and gazed at the unconscious form of his younger brother beside him, all thoughts of his own predicament slipped away to the back of his mind. A lump came to his throat, and he swallowed in an attempt to alleviate the ache. Beside him, the ventilator's '_whoosh-hiss'_ seemed to increase in volume, and Scott closed his eyes, shaking his head. How could this have happened?

Gazing steadily at Virgil's prone form, he shook his head slowly.

"You're an idiot, d'you know that?" he asked his brother, his voice constricted with emotion. He felt the anger, the guilt, the fear and the sadness all rising within him at once, and found that his voice began to speak of its own accord. He was unable to hold back the words as he finally released his hold on all the thoughts and accusations that had been rolling around in his mind for the last hour. "Why didn't you tell me about this? How could you hide it from me, Virge? We're partners, you and I, we don't keep things like this from each other."

Glaring at the chest tube that protruded from Virgil's side, he ran a hand over his face and let out a long, slow sigh.

"Dammit, Virge, this isn't supposed to happen to you," he stated softly. "You never get hurt in a rescue. Never. So why'd this have to happen now? We could've helped you sooner if you had just let me look after you. My injury was nothing compared to yours. And now look at you; you're hooked up to a damned machine. You can't even breath on your own for goodness sakes!"

And there it was, the anger that beginning to bubble its way to the surface, clouding his mind in a hazy fog of guilt and pain, blocking out all other sensible thought.

"I couldn't bear it if anything happened to you," he continued hoarsely. "When you stopped breathing, I really thought-" he stopped as his voice wavered, shaking his head again. "I thought I was gonna lose you. Dammit, Virge, you scared me half to death! Why didn't you tell me you were having trouble breathing? Why did you keep it to yourself? Don't you get it; it's _my_ job to take care of you, _my_ job to make sure you're alright. But you made it damned difficult for me to do that, didn't you?!"

Staring into Virgil's pale face made Scott's heart clench within his chest, and he felt the anger flow out of him as quickly as it had arrived, being replaced instead by an overwhelming sense of guilt. Virgil suddenly looked so young and small - so vulnerable. Scott felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes.

"I'm sorry, kiddo," he whispered, reaching out to brush a shaky hand through Virgil's hair as he inched closer to his brother's side. Scott swallowed again, carefully smoothing back the chestnut locks. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell. It's alright, Virge. You're gonna be okay, you hear? I'm gonna look after you. I'm not gonna let this happen to you again, I promise. Never again."

Scott glanced across Virgil's body at the arm that was bandaged. Smiling softly, he took his brother's hand in his and held it gently.

"You're not gonna be able to play the piano for a little while, huh, buddy?" he said quietly, feeling his eyes begin to grow heavier. "But at least it wasn't your right arm, so you'll still be able to draw. And I'm sure everything will have healed up nicely in a couple of weeks. Well, except your ribs. They're gonna bother you for quite some time. But we'll get through this together, Virge. You'll be fussing over our bumps and bruises again in no time at all. You'll see."

Virgil made no visible response to this, but Scott felt as though the heavy guilt within his chest had been lifted away. Smiling, he ran a hand down Virgil's cheeks, shaking his head slowly and letting out a soft chuckle. Then he winced, putting his injured hand to his head as a throb of pain behind his eyes told him that his body was beginning to protest his immense fatigue. Glancing wearily across the room at his bed, Scott shook his head again. There was no way he would be able to walk that distance on his own now that he had lost the incentive to reach his goal. His determination to arrive at Virgil's side had been the only thing that had kept him from collapsing in a heap beforehand, and he really had no strong desire to stand up again. He was perfectly comfortable where he was.

Glancing back down at Virgil, he smiled wearily, running his hand through his brother's hair once more.

"G'night, kiddo," he murmured affectionately, pulling the blankets further up the younger man's body, being careful not to dislodge the chest tube in the process. Letting out a long sigh, Scott allowed his head to sink down onto the crook of his arm - which, in turn, was resting upon the area of mattress beside Virgil's shoulder. Still clutching Virgil's hand in his, he allowed his exhausted eyes to slip closed, feeling his whole body - right down to the last muscle - relax in unison.

With a final weary sigh, the eldest Tracy son finally drifted off to sleep.

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Jeff frowned thoughtfully, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth.

"We have a problem, don't we?"

Thomas nodded from where he had perched on the edge of Virgil's desk. "You got that right," he agreed. "I'd say we have two options here; either we call in for backup, or you're gonna have to take International Rescue offline for a little while. There simply aren't enough operatives to handle a rescue."

Jeff sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he closed his eyes. "We still have Gordon and Alan," he stated. "And Fermat and Tin-Tin, for that matter. They both completed their training earlier this summer."

Thomas shook his head his fingers playing with the stethoscope that hung about his neck.

"Tin-Tin's gonna be out of action for a few days with that ankle of hers," he explained. "And you know that Fermat's asthma will prevent him from taking part in the more active rescues. Gordon and Alan are good at what they do, but they can't possibly handle a rescue on their own."

"There's me," Jeff countered. "If the need arises, I can always take part in the rescue."

"You'd still be short-staffed," Thomas sighed, running a hand through his chocolate-brown hair.

Jeff nodded in silent agreement, sitting down at the foot of Virgil's bed and rubbing his face with his hands. Then, almost as though a light-bulb was switched on within his brain, an idea sprung to mind.

"Myers," he stated.

Thomas looked at him as though he'd lost his marbles. "Excuse me?"

"Andy," Jeff elaborated. "He was supposed to be coming over on Friday to spend a week or so of his leave on the island. He completed his training right after we made him one of our primary agents, remember? He's capable of handling the rescue equipment if needs be."

Thomas looked thoughtful. "That might just be the solution we've been looking for," he stated softly. "And since Andy's a doctor, he'd also be able to look after the boys, so either one of us could go with you in answer to a distress call."

Jeff stood to his feet, walking over to the desk where Tom sat and switching on the monitor, sitting down in the desk-chair. "I'll give him a call and see if he can manage to get here a few days early. It'll mean that we won't have to shut down International Rescue, which will stop the boys from worrying over whether or not other peoples lives are in danger."

Thomas hopped off the desk and came to stand behind the chair, watching silently as Jeff sent out a call on Andrew's private comm-channel. As with the transmitters within the International Rescue wrist-watches, the signal would slip by unnoticed and would not even be picked up by the advanced scanners that were used at Boston airbase. Brains' inventions certainly came in handy at times such as these.

Jeff leaned his elbows upon the desk, interlocking his fingers and sighing as he waited for the call to be answered. He knew that it would still be early evening over in Boston, so he didn't have to worry about Andy already being asleep. And besides, he was a doctor. Doctors never slept.

"Hopefully, things will be quiet enough at the base for him to be able to leave tomorrow morning," Jeff murmured, almost to himself. However, Thomas heard his comment, and let out an amused snort.

"Are you kidding me?" he smiled. "Just mention the word 'injured' in connection to Scott, John and Virgil, and he'll be over hear before you can say 'please'."

Jeff smiled at the truth behind hid friend's statement. Andrew Myers was Scott's closest friend and, in many ways, his older brother. Consequently, the rest of the family viewed him as such. And just like Scott, Andy was rather protective of his 'younger siblings'. This had been one of the reasons why - after the disaster during Spring break - he had insisted upon Jeff setting up a network of emergency contacts within the Air Force, NASA, WASP and so on. Andy had been determined not to allow his 'brothers' to be put at risk like that again.

Jeff leaned back in the chair, drumming his fingers atop the surface of the desk as he tried not to become impatient. Considering the fact that he had five lively sons, one would have thought that Jeff would possess the patience of Job. But alas, this was not the case. Then, just as Jeff was contemplating forgetting about it and trying again later, the light on the monitor began to flash. Jeff grinned, reaching out to activate the visual link between the two signals.

_Success at last._

* * *

**_Will Andy be able to make it to Tracy island, or will International Rescue be forced to stand down until the boys are up and about again? Will Virgil's condition make any improvements over the next few hours? And will Scott ever get 'into' his bed? Find out on Saturday!_**

**_Okay, all over for now. I hope you enjoyed reading the chapter. PLEASE REVIEW and tell me what you thought about it. As always, concrit is very much appreciated. The next chapter will be up on SATURDAY, so until then have a great week!_**

**_xoxoxoxoxoxox_**


	23. Chapter 23: Boys Will Be Boys

**_Hey folks!_**

**_Sorry for not posting last night like I had initially planned. My grandma has been pretty ill this week, and just last night she was taken to hospital. The doctors aren't quite sure what's making her so ill, but they suspect that there may be something wrong with her kidneys. Whatever it is, it's bad. So I spent most of the night at the hospital waiting for my parents to get back from Manchester. It wasn't so much fun, trust me._**

**_On a more cheerful note, thanks for all the great reviews you've sent me over the past few days. They were encouraging and helpful, and words really can't express how much I appreciate your feedback. This chapter is for you guys - and for my gran, 'cause she's awesome._**

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"Catch!"

Andrew Myers looked up in time to see the white blur of a lab coat as it hurtled towards him and landed with a soft _'flump'_ over his head. Frowning in mock-annoyance, he yanked the item back off again and tossed it back at the junior medical officer.

"Watch it, bucko, or I might just change my mind about those reports," he warned, grinning evilly at the younger man. "You can never be too organised, you know. And my filing cabinet is in dire need of sorting. I think alphabetical order would do nicely, don't you?"

The other man blanched, shaking his head as he backed steadily towards the door. "Oh no you don't," he argued. "I've spent the last three hours filling in the monthly equipment checklist, and I refuse to be stuck in that office of yours a moment longer!"

Andy laughed. "What's the matter, Paul?" he asked, amusement lining his voice. "Getting cabin fever?"

"You could say that," Paul agreed, slinging the lab coat over his arm as he strode towards the door. "Which is why I'm off to teach Leitenant Whiley how to play chess."

Andy looked up from the data-pad he had been working on, raising an eyebrow. "She's never played chess before?" he asked disbelievingly.

"Apparently not," Paul replied, pausing beside the open infirmary doors. "She says her family wasn't the board game type."

"That's what they all say," Andy mumbled, smiling to himself. Glancing up at the younger doctor, he waved him off. "You'd better hurry. Women like Maria are not known for their patience."

"Gotcha, doc," Paul grinned, stepping out into the corridor. "I'll see ya later!"

Andy let out a long sigh as the doors slid closed, shaking his head as he hopped up onto one of the bio-beds. It had been a long day. With the airbase working on installing the new energy converters, he had spent most of the day treating numerous burns and minor lacerations. But the repairs had finally been completed - at least for now - and he could relax at last. But he would've been screwed if Paul hadn't been there to fill in the forms for him. It was times such as these when a man wished he had four hands instead of two.

Even though there were less than fifteen-hundred officers, mechanics and crewman at the base, it seemed as though they were constantly managing to injure themselves on something. In fact, over the past eight years, Andy couldn't remember more than a day having gone by where he hadn't been forced to patch up _somebody._ But he didn't mind it so much. Healing was his passion.

'_Although,_' Andy reasoned, running a hand through his dark hair and he swung his legs back and forth absent-mindedly_. 'I'm still busy enough outside of the infirmary. And after shore leave, I'm gonna be even busier. I'll need to remember to schedule a conference with Admiral Collins when I get back; Jason and I need to brief him on the modifications we've made to the pentium model. __Say, where **is** Jase? He said he'd meet me here after he'd finished rewiring that fried conduit.'_

Andy smiled again, putting his hands against the mattress and leaning back so that he could gaze up at the ceiling. However much he loved his job as a doctor, he sure was glad to be leaving the base for a few weeks. Things had been rather hectic over the past couple of months, what with all the threats that the country had been receiving from Hieto; a group of so-called 'freedom-fighters' who were protesting about the rapid technological progression of the Western World. The group was rapidly growing in number, and the members had so far managed to remain anonymous, but over the past few months they had launched attacks on UN bases around the world without warning. Things had certainly been a little stressed recently.

And that was why Andy desperately needed a vacation. He knew exactly where he would feel most content; it had been far too long since he had visited Tracy Island. In fact, he mused, he hadn't been there since Spring break. Even when Alan had contracted Scarlet Fever earlier that summer, he hadn't been able to take a leave of absence to visit him. The only thing that had prevented him from stealing one of the faster jets and flying out into the south Pacific had been the assurances he'd received from Scott, telling him that Alan was steadily improving. But that first week of his illness had been hard to bear. In many ways, he still saw Alan as being the little five-year-old boy that he had treated in Brookfield hospital almost ten years ago. And although Alan had grown since then, the memories of Andy's first encounter with the Tracy family would never fade. Especially since he had a scar on the back of his head to prove it.

Andy grinned. _I wounder if Alan remembers it all. I suppose he **was** only five at the time, so things will probably be a little vague. But I remember it all so well. Especially that day when I took Scott to the small airbase near the hospital. Man, that was the most fun I'd had in a long time. The look of complete mortification on his face when he tripped over that toolbox and landed on his ass right in front of the base commander - man, thinking about it still cracks me up._

Smiling at the memory, Andy let out a small sigh, stretching his arms out to the side and rotating his stiff neck. Hopping back down off the bed, he strode over to the counter where he had left his data-pad, picking up the device and scrolling through the long list of reports he had made that day. Reading them back to himself, he leaned against the wall and hummed softly, tapping his foot on the floor.

Suddenly, the _'hiss'_ of the infirmary doors opening interrupted his tune. Glancing up from the small screen, he grinned as he spotted his colleague standing in the doorway.

"Hey Jase!" Andy greeted cheerfully, tossing the data-pad back down onto the counter and shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat. "You took your time!"

Then he paused, noticing the rather pained expression upon the younger man's face. Frowning slightly, his eyes dropped to the hand that Jason was cradling protectively against his chest. Andy shook his head, walking towards the officer as he rolled his eyes.

"Jase," he groaned dramatically, taking him by the arm and gently pulling him over towards the nearest bed. "Not again! You seriously need to stop hurting yourself, dude. It's bad for your health."

Jason smiled sheepishly, sitting down on the bed and watching as the doctor pulled on a pair of gloves. "It wasn't my fault this time," he protested. "The new energy converters caused a power fluctuation in a neighbouring circuitry panel. My conduit should've been cut off from the others, but the spark was large enough to jump the dampeners and fry my circuitry board. My hand kinda got fried in the process."

Andy gently turned Jason's hand over, inspecting the burn silently. After a moment, he glanced up from his work and smiled.

"I'm surprised you actually bothered to come down here," he remarked softly, picking up a bio-scanner and running it over the man's hand. "Usually you try to hide these kinda things from me, and I have to drag your sorry butt up here myself. But I'm glad you had the sense to admit to being hurt this time."

"I didn't," Jason replied, smirking slightly in an attempt to hide his grimace. "Commander Henson was in the wrong place at the wrong time - for me, that is."

"Good," Andy mumbled, setting the scanner back down again and reaching over to activate the comm-panel on the wall beside the bed. After a moment's pause, a female voice filtered through the speakers.

"Munrow here. What can I do for you, doctor?"

"Sarah, I need you to come down to the infirmary," Andy stated, smiling at Jason as he spoke. "Your favourite patient is back again."

"Jason?!" Sarah gasped over the comm-line. "What's he done to himself this time?"

Andy laughed at the look on Jason's face. "Oh, he's just being his usual clumsy self," he replied casually.

"I'll be right down," the nurse responded, and the line was cut off.

Jason turned to look at Andy. The elder of the two men shrugged. "What?" he asked lightly. "I just thought that you might want her to kiss it better."

Jason blushed and mumbled something under his breath. Andy laughed again.

"Don't let her hear you say that, Jase, or she might just stop flirting with you," he stated, picking up a handful of medical supplies before moving to sit on the stool in front of Jason's bed. "And _that_, my clumsy friend, would rob me of my daily entertainment. And since nothing around here is amusing enough to replace your antics, I really wouldn't appreciate you doing that."

As he set to work cleaning up the burn, he smiled to himself. Although Jason was only four years younger than him, the twenty-five-year-old could still act like a lovesick teenager on occasion. As could Sarah, his head nurse. And as for Paul, the junior doctor who had worked with him for the past couple of years - well, he was just the personnification of a _'ladies' man'_. Andy knew for a fact that there were a good number of female officers on the station who found the younger medic attractive. And teasing Paul about it made Andy's life at the airbase seem all the more perfect.

"Your watch is flashing."

Andy glanced up from where he had been injecting a little more of the anaesthetic into Jason's hand. "Pardon?"

"Your watch," Jason repeated. "It's flashing."

Andy blinked, holding up his left arm sharply and only just avoiding stabbing himself with the needle in the process. Setting the object down upon the metal table he had been working on, he pressed the button in the side of the device so that the screen ceased to flash red.

"Why was it doing that?" Jason inquired, running his uninjured hand through his sandy-brown hair.

"I left cookies in the oven," Andy replied evenly.

Jason snorted. "Yeah right, like you can bake."

"Hey!" Andy protested, frowning moodily at his friend. "It's not wise to insult a guy who's holding a needle in his hand."

Jason was about to retort when the '_hiss'_ of the infirmary doors resounded in the room. Glancing over his shoulder, Andy grinned when he spotted Sarah, standing up and pulling off his surgical gloves.

"Sarah, I've gotta take an important call in my office," he said to the nurse. "Could you finish up in here for me? Just dress the wound and give him five mils of hycordrazine for the pain, okay?"

"Sure thing," Sarah replied, before hurrying across the room to fuss over the younger man.

Andy grinned to himself as he turned around and headed over to the door on the other side of the infirmary. Typing in his access code, he stepped into the office as the door opened, flicking on the lights and hurrying over to the monitor on his desk. Reaching into his desk drawer, he pulled out the transmitter and plugged it into the underside of the computer, waiting whilst the machine whirred to life. Seconds felt like hours as he impatiently tapped his foot upon the floor, desperate to speak to whichever member of International Rescue was calling him.

The last time he had heard from the organisation had been when Brains had sent out the standard transmission to inform all members of International Rescue that the Thunderbirds had successfully completed the rescue mission in Australia, and that the primary agents could therefore stand down from alert. Andy wouldn't usually hear from them so soon after a mission unless - well - unless it _hadn't_ been so very successful, and lives had been lost. Scott often called him to chat things over if that were the case.

The screen suddenly became filled with the live image-feed from Tracy island, and a bright smile lit up Andy's face.

"Mr. Tracy!" he said delightedly. "What can I do for you?"

Then he noticed the serious look on the Tracy patriarch's face, and felt his heart flutter worriedly within his chest.

"What's wrong? Has something happened?" he demanded. On the screen, Jeff sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"Andy, I was calling to ask if you could come to the island ahead of schedule," Jeff stated, a mask of calm sliding into place. "I can understand if you're not able to do so at such short notice, but if you can I would really appreciate it. There's been - an incident."

"What sort of incident?" Andy asked, feeling his worry increase. Suddenly, a second figure appeared beside Jeff, crouching down and fixing Andy with a steady gaze. Andy blinked. "Tom? What's going on? What's happened?"

"Andy, the guys have been hurt," he stated seriously. "We're three men down, and we need another operative in case a rescue call comes in."

"Who's been hurt?" Andy demanded worriedly. It had been a very long time since he's seen the older doctor looking so serious. "When? How?"

Thomas held up his hand. "One thing at a time, junior," he smiled. Then he sighed slightly, glancing over at Jeff before delivering the news. "Virgil suffered a tension pneumothorax a couple of hours ago. We hadn't anticipated the severity of his injuries, and the oxygen deprivation took its toll on his body. We had to intubate. But he's going to be alright," the older doctor added hurriedly, noticing the panicked expression on Andy's face. "He's gonna make a full recovery. But it's gonna take time, kiddo, and we need another pilot in case a call comes in. D'you think you can persuade the base commander to let you take leave a few days early?"

Andy nodded quickly, his mind already working out a plan of action. "Ben owes me a few favours," the younger man stated. "I'm sure he'll allow me to go. I'll be there in four hours max, alright?"

Thomas grinned. "Thanks, pal," he stated. "I knew we could count on you."

Andy smiled weakly. "What can I say? I'm awesome," he stated. Then his face fell again, and he looked at both of the faces on the screen. "You said that you were three men down. Who else was hurt? Is Alan alright? God knows that kid's been through enough this summer."

Jeff smiled gently, nodding his head. "Alan's just fine, Andy," he replied. "He and Gordon managed to get outta this one relatively unscathed."

"Scott?" Andy demanded. "Scott and John, are they alright?"

Thomas sighed slightly, running a hand through his hair again. "John sustained a severe concussion, and superficial damage to his right arm," the doctor continued. "But there's no subcraneal swelling, so I think he's out of the woods. Scott managed to lacerate his calf pretty bad, but it didn't cause any extended damage to his gastrocnemius muscle. With rest, he should be just fine. The same applies to the puncture wound in Virgil's arm."

"The what?" Jeff asked, turning towards Thomas on the screen, a worried frown upon his face. "What's wrong with his arm?"

Thomas grimaced. "Sorry, must've forgotten to tell you about that one. I found a shard of some sort of metallic object trapped within the gash in Virgil's arm. It had gone in pretty deep - deep enough to tear a hole in his lateral tricep muscle, at any rate - but I've sutured the wound closed, and he should be fine. He just needs to rest it."

Andy watched as the worry slowly drained from Jeff's face, although not from his eyes, and was replaced instead by a weary expression. Clearing his throat, Andy smiled at both the oder men as they turned to look at him.

"I need to contact the commander so that I can arrange everything," he stated. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

Jeff returned the smile gratefully. "Thanks, Andy," he replied, his voice betraying his fatigue. "Contact us as soon as you begin the approach to the island. We'll call you if there's any change in the boys' conditions, alright?

Andy nodded once, snapping to attention. "Understood. Agent seven out."

Disconnecting the call, Andy stood to his feet, determination coursing through his veins. He didn't know how or why this had happened to the Tracy boys, but he wasn't about to stand by and do nothing when his closest friends were injured. He knew Scott enough to understand the severity of the situation; to understand just how guilty the eldest Tracy son would be feeling at this moment. Scott always blamed himself for every injury that his family sustained. And he would take Virgil's injuries the hardest. Because the middle Tracy son never became injured. Never. It just wasn't right.

Striding over to the comm-panel on the wall, Andy punched in the commander's communications channel, his fingertips drumming against the tops of his thighs as he waited for the call to be answered.

"Henson here," came the swift reply.

"Ben," Andy began, forgetting formality as he spoke to his friend. "Ben, I need a favour."

"Andy?" came the startled reply. "Is everything alright? You sound...stressed."

"I need to leave the base within the hour," Andy stated, trying to calm himself as he glanced down at his watch an bit the inside of his cheek. He couldn't afford to waste time; the Tracy's needed him. "It's - it's a family emergency."

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Jeff sighed in relief, reaching forward to flick the switch on the underside of the monitor so that the console shut down.

"Well," Thomas said suddenly, clapping his hands together softly . "Now that Andy's on the case, can you please calm down? You've been emitting stress like a radiator, Jeff, and it's starting to affect me. And I _never_ stress, you know that. It's kinda disconcerting."

Jeff smiled, spinning around on the chair and fixing Thomas with an amused stare. After a moment, he shook his head and sighed.

"Alright, I'll calm down," he said softly. "I'm sorry, it's just - I'm just worried about the boys."

"I know," Thomas murmured. "But they'll be alright, Jeff. They're made of strong stuff, they won't let this keep them down. In fact, I have a feeling that the next few weeks will be pretty tiring on poor old me. Keeping Scott in the infirmary is going to be an ongoing struggle. And as for the other- Jeff? What are you smirking about?"

Jeff let out an amused snort, resting his hands on his knees as he looked up at the doctor.

"You just admitted to being old," he stated, his eyes sparkling with laughter. Thomas blinked, surprised.

"What? No I didn't!" he protested.

Jeff nodded his head. "Yes you did," he grinned. "You said - to quote you directly - 'poor old me'. Allow me to put emphasis on the word _'old'._"

Thomas just rolled his eyes and waved off Jeff's comment, trying - and failing - to hide his smile. "Whatever."

A comfortable silence settled between the two of them, and Jeff felt more at peace than he had been since things had first started to go wrong during the rescue mission. Sighing wearily, he leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows upon his knees and rubbing his hands over his face. Suddenly, he felt a hand settle gently upon his shoulder, and looked up to see Thomas smiling down at him sympathetically.

"I guess I would be wasting my breath if I suggested that you go to sleep?" he inquired softly. At Jeff's knowing look, he sighed and straightened up again. "Yeah, I thought as much. Well, seeing as I'm not serving any purpose here, I think I'll go and check on the boys. You coming?"

Jeff smiled, standing to his feet. "Sure."

The two men made their way out of Virgil's bedroom, stepping across the hallway and through the infirmary doors as they '_swished'_ open before them. Stepping into the dimly-lit room, they both came to a halt at the scene that met their eyes. Jeff felt a fond smile tug at the corners of his mouth as his eyes fell upon the sleeping form of his eldest son, who sat slumped in a chair at Virgil's bedside, his head and arms resting on the area of mattress beside Virgil's prone form.

Thomas sighed, shaking his head as he turned to look at Jeff.

"Well," he said softly, throwing his hands up in the air. "That's it, I give up. He's hopeless."

Jeff grinned. "At least he's sleeping. That's a step further than Virgil ever managed - at least not without the added help of a strong sedative."

Thomas groaned softly. "I should have been more specific," he stated. "I should've made sure to tell him that my intention was for him to sleep on his _own_ bed, not in a chair next to Virgil's."

"But you've gotta admit," Jeff interjected. "They look adorable."

Thomas let out an amused snort. "I'd love to see Scott's face if you told him that when he was awake."

"I plan to," Jeff grinned, winking conspiratorially.

Thomas smiled and shook his head, turning back towards the bed to survey the two younger men. After a moment, a small frown formed upon his face as he took note of Scott's position in the chair. With the bruising and lacerations that Scott had sustained, he was going to be as stiff as a board if he didn't move into a more comfortable position soon.

"You'd better wake him up," the doctor murmured, glancing over at his friend as he spoke. "Sitting like that isn't doing his injuries any favours."

Jeff nodded, walking silently across the room to his son's bedside. Stopping a few inches away from the back leg of Scott's chair, he reached out a hand and placed it in between Scott's shoulder blades, rubbing his eldest's back gently.

"Scott," he said softly, crouching down so that his head was about level with the top of the mattress. "Scotty? Wake up, son."

Scott grunted and stirred, inhaling sharply as his head rose from his arms. He turned towards his father, blinking wearily, and drew a hand across his face. Then his head snapped back around to where Virgil lay beside him, and his shoulders sagged slightly.

"So I guess it wasn't just a dream, huh?" he said softly, taking a firmer grip on Virgil's hand. Jeff smiled sadly, ruffling Scott's hair as he would do Alan's.

"Afraid not, Sparky," he replied. Then he frowned slightly, noticing the pained expression on his son's face. "Scott? Are you alright?"

Scott nodded stiffly, trying to hide his grimace. "I'm just a bit sore," he said dismissively, although his voice betrayed his pain. "I'll be okay."

"Sore my ass," Thomas muttered, stepping up to stand beside Jeff and peering down at Scott with a mildly accusing expression upon his face. "What did I say would happen if you got up out of bed?"

Scott blanched slightly, knowing that the doctor had told him to stay in bed. However, before he could think of an answer, Thomas spoke again.

"Scrap that, I forgot to threaten you before I left," he mumbled to himself, running a hand through his hair. Then he sighed, fixing Scott with a steady gaze. "How're ya feeling, kiddo? And I want the truth this time."

"I already told you, I'm just-" Scott broke off mid-sentence, going stiff as he sucked in a sharp breath. Jeff felt his heat leap up into his throat.

"Scotty, what's wrong?" he demanded worriedly, leaning forward and grasping Scott's arm.

Scott's head snapped round to gaze at his younger brother, a look of surprise and hope upon his face.

"Virgil just squeezed my hand!" he exclaimed, his voice no more than a hoarse whisper.

Thomas immediately rounded the bed so that he stood on the opposite side to Jeff and Scott. Glancing up at the overhead monitors, he smiled, nodding his head in confirmation to his diagnosis.

"His heart-rate is increasing," he stated. "And his blood pressure seems to be leveling out nicely. I'd say that he's finally decided to grace us with his presence."

As though on cue, Virgil's eyes began to slowly creep open. Scott shuffled closer to his brother's side, ignoring the dull throb in his leg as he did so, and clasped Virgil's hand in both his own.

"Hey," he murmured, smiling gently as the honey-burnt orbs locked with his own gaze. Virgil blinked at him groggily, before grimacing painfully and screwing his eyes shut. His chest heaved slightly and he shifted beneath the sheets, his face growing pale as the overhead monitors began to flash.

"Easy, Virgil," Thomas soothed putting his hands on the younger man's shoulder. "Easy, it's alright. We had to intubate you earlier when you stopped breathing. Don't fight it, kiddo. Just let it breathe for you. That's it, there we go. Just take it easy. Wait a second, and I can get rid of the tube, okay?"

Slowly, Virgil began to relax, although his grip on Scott's hand didn't lessen in the slightest. A part of Scott was relieved to see Virgil fighting again, as it was a sign that his brother's health was improving. On the other hand, he was worried that Virgil was only going to end up hurting himself more in this agitated state of consciousness.

Jeff leaned over Scott's shoulder, cupping Virgil's cheek gently as he smiled down at him. Virgil's gaze met his own, and the Tracy patriarch saw a little of the panic leave the weary eyes as the younger man beheld his father.

"It's alright, son," Jeff murmured softly. "I'm right here. Just relax. You're gonna be just fine. Boy am I glad to see you awake, kiddo. You had me worried back there. But I knew you were too stubborn to let this keep you down. You're gonna be alright now. We're gonna take care of you."

Virgil relaxed into his touch, closing his eyes momentarily. Then he opened them again, glancing over at Thomas, who had picked up a syringe and was currently injecting a clear liquid into Virgil's IV line. He dropped the needle into a disposable box upon the metal trolley, before leaning back over his youngest patient and smiling gently.

"I've just given you a strong dose of morphine for the pain," he explained. "We'll give it a minute or so to work its magic, then I'll take the tube out, okay?"

Virgil nodded ever so slightly, his pained expression lessening as the drugs began to kick in. As the seconds ticked by, the younger Tracy became more and more alert, his eyes darting to the side and fixing Scott with a questioning stare. Even though his brother looked so weak and vulnerable, the steady gaze was still slightly disgruntling, and Scott shifted in his seat uncomfortably. The eldest Tracy looked up when Thomas began to laugh, and saw the doctor gazing at him in sympathetic amusement.

"Your brother knows just as well as I do that a guy in your condition should be in bed, Scott," he stated, unhooking the stethoscope from around his neck and putting it in his ears. With another smile at the disgruntled pilot, he bent back over Virgil's bed. "This might feel a little cold," he warned.

Virgil made no response to this statement - not that he could, of course, as the tube was still in his throat - other than to tense up slightly, wincing as his sore muscles protested the movement. After a moment, the doctor seemed satisfied with the results, and slung the stethoscope around his neck once more.

"Alrighty, you ready to have this thing removed?" he asked softly, gently ruffling Virgil's hair. At Virgil's small nod to indicate the affirmative, Thomas smiled and reached out to unhook the oxygen-feed from the valve on the ventilator. Grasping the tube carefully by the connector in front of Virgil's mouth, he looked the younger man in the eye.

"Your ready?" he asked. Virgil gave another nod, and Thomas took a gentle hold of his chin. "Okay; on three, I want you to blow out as hard as you can, alright? You know the drill. One....two.....three."

As Virgil's chest heaved weakly, Thomas expertly pulled the tube all the way out of his throat, quickly setting it down on the metal trolley as Virgil began to cough. The middle Tracy son's face was a mask of pain as he lay there, sucking in rasping breaths. His face had paled to the same pasty colour that it had been beforehand, beads of sweat glistened upon his brow as he closed his eyes, clutching at his brother's hand even tighter. Scott winced sympathetically at the thought of how much pain Virgil must be in, even with the drugs in his system.

Hooking up an oxygen mask to the tank at the side of the bed, Thomas carefully placed it over Virgil's nose and mouth, pulling the elastic cord around the back of the younger man's head to keep it in place. Glancing up at the monitors again, he watched them silently for a few minutes, nodding in approval as the blood-oxygen levels did not deteriorate. Thomas leaned back over Virgil's body and put his stethoscope in his ears, holding the the metal end against the bruised flesh of Virgil's heaving chest.

"Great job, buddy," he congratulated softly, moving the stethoscope over to the right. "Just breathe easy now. Give your lungs time to adjust. I know it hurts, kid, I know. But it won't be so bad in a minute or two. Just relax."

As Virgil's grimace slowly faded away, Jeff leaned in closer to his son's side, running a hand through his hair. Virgil blinked up at him wearily, managing a weak smile as he fought to keep his eyelids open.

"Wha-?" he croaked, only to fall silent as Jeff put a finger to his lips as an indication form him to stop talking.

"Shh," he soothed, playing gently with the chestnut locks. "Don't try to speak just yet, kiddo. I'll explain everything when you're a little more lucid. Just rest now."

Virgil sighed in exhaustion, his the heavy lids drooping even lower over his bloodshot eyes. Turning his head to the side, he looked up at Scott and gave his older brother's hand a gentle squeeze.

"Leg hurt?" he rasped softly, his voice cracking slightly with the effort.

Scott shook his head. "I'm okay, Virge," he stated, returning the squeeze. "Tom patched me up. I'll be alright."

Virgil frowned softly, shaking his head. "You need-" he began hoarsely, his voice muffled by the mask, before Scott shushed him again.

"Stop talking, you moron," the older sibling scolded fondly. "Just close your eyes and rest, okay? Your body's been through a heck of a lot this evening."

Scott suddenly found himself being subjected to an exceedingly weary 'Virge the Surge' glare. He could see the spark of determination beginning to kindle itself behind his younger brother's eyes, and again discovered that Virgil had the ability to disgruntle him no matter what his physical condition.

"Sleep," Virgil whispered, his tone as forceful as it could be considering his condition.

"I will," Scott promised. "Later."

"No," Virgil argued weakly, his eyes closing for a second. "Now."

"Your brother's right, Scott," Jeff interjected, putting a hand on Scott's shoulder. "You need to rest. You're clearly in pain, and you're practically falling asleep already. Virgil's gonna be okay, son. But you won't be doing anyone any favours if you make yourself worse. C'mon, let's get you back to bed."

Scott shook his head again, keeping his gaze fixed on Virgil's face as his brother's eyes opened once more. Virgil frowned at him in sleepy annoyance, before glancing over to where the doctor stood on the other side of the bed.

"Tom," he croaked. "Please?"

Thomas nodded his head, reaching down to smooth Virgil's hair away from his forehead. "Don't sweat it, kiddo," he murmured. "I'll handle this."

Then glancing up at Scott, he reached into his pocket and extracted a capped hypodermic needle - the very same one that he had threatened the pilot with earlier on that evening. Tapping it against his palm gently, he fixed Scott with a steady gaze.

"I really don't want to have to use this on you, Scooter," he said softly. "But your brother's right, you need to sleep. I'm going to give you one last warning, but that's it. Either you go to bed willingly, or by force. Which is it going to be?"

Scott let out a long sigh, dropping his head slightly. Realising that there was no chance of escaping his fate, he resigned himself to the fact that he was officially outnumbered, glancing back up again and shaking his head.

"Fine, you win," he mumbled. He felt Virgil squeeze his hand weakly, and gazed down into the weary face of his younger sibling. Virgil gave him a brief smile, a smile that made Scott's heart soar to immeasurable heights, before his eyes slid closed and his body relaxed against the mattress. As the weak grip loosened on his stiff fingers, Scott carefully released his hold, leaning back in the chair and rubbing a hand wearily across his face.

Jeff reached down and rubbed the back of Scott's neck gently, feeling his eldest son relax against his touch just as Virgil had done.

"C'mon, Scotty," he said softly. "Bedtime."

Scott let out another resigned sigh, putting his hands on the edge of the mattress so that he could push himself to his feet. However, he had barely risen an inch or so out of his chair when he ran out of energy, and slumped back down again.

"I would if I could," the pilot mumbled, staring glumly at his legs as though weren't actually a part of his body. Well, in truth, they didn't seem to want to respond to his wishes, so they might as well have belonged to somebody else.

Thomas smiled softly, rounding the bed and crouching down beside the eldest Tracy son.

"Up you come, buddy," he instructed, slinging one of Scott's arms about his shoulders and heaving the younger man to his feet. Grunting softly, he tightened his hold about Scott's frame as they began to make their way across the room. "Darn it, kid, why'd you have to be so tall? It really isn't very convenient, ya know."

At last they reached Scott's bedside, and Jeff helped Thomas to get Scott settled. The pilot was practically asleep already, having given up the fight to stay awake. Thomas picked up a hand-held scanner and ran it over Scott's leg, mumbling to himself as he frowned thoughtfully. Setting the device down, he stepped back up the the head of the bed, patting Scott's cheek gently.

"Scotty," he called. "Scotty, open your eyes for a minute."

Scott's weary blue orbs peered up at the older man, and a questioning frown formed on his features.

"Scott, when was the last time you had something to drink?" Thomas inquired. Scott's frown deepened as he tried to force his sluggish brain to think back into what had happened over the past eight hours.

"Dunno," he mumbled. "Can't remember."

Thomas nodded knowingly. "Which I guess means that you haven't drunk anything since the beginning of the rescue, right?" he inquired. Without waiting for a response, he gently pulled Scott's arm out from underneath the blankets. "I'm gonna set up an IV line and give you fluids that way. It also means it'll be easier to give you the pain meds when you need them. So just lie still for me, alright?"

Scott groaned in annoyance. If there was one thing he hated more than being an invalid, it was being attached to an IV line. In his opinion, it was just like being chained up in a prison. Except that the chains went _into_ your body, and you had to stay in bed all the time. So, in many ways, a prison seemed a far more desirable option right now.

Thomas had the IV line set up in a matter of minutes, and soon Scott found himself hooked up to a large bag of clear fluids. Glaring at the object that hung by a pole above his head, he frowned moodily. He _really_ hated IV lines.

"Stop pouting, tiger," Jeff said fondly, leaning over the bed and running a hand through Scott's hair. "It's for your own good. And besides, we'll be able to take it out tomorrow. Well, unless Tom decides to give you your week's worth of antibiotics intravenously."

Scott's eyes widened, and he sent the doctor a pleading look. _Hooked up to **that** thing for the duration of my course of antibiotics? No, absolutely not. I refuse._

Thomas laughed softly, leaning over the other side of the bed and patting Scott on the shoulder. "Don't fret, kiddo," he smiled. "I'll be giving you the antibiotics via a series of injections, so if all goes well, you should be off the IV line in eight hours or so, okay? Now go to sleep. And no getting up this time, you hear?"

Scott returned the smile, although somewhat weakly, and his eyes slid closed. Jeff regarded his eldest son for a moment, continuing to run his fingers through the younger man's hair. It was a sign of how exhausted and hurt his boy was that Scott hadn't even bothered to protest the affections. Jeff felt as though his boys were really '_boys'_ once more. And he had to admit, he's missed being their daddy; the one person who could scare away all the troubles of the world with a hug and a cookie. It was a comfort to know that, even though his three eldest children were all grown men, there were still times when they relied on him to be there for them. 'Daddy-Tracy' was still in business.

Thomas regarded his old friend for a long moment, smiling softly. He was relieved beyond words that everything seemed to be slowly returning to their usual order. Virgil's condition was steadily improving, John's vitals had nearly returned to normal, and Scott had finally allowed himself to relax. Yes, everything was going to be alright.

"Hey Tom," Jeff said suddenly, glancing up from his son's face. "Maybe we should've told Scott about Andy."

Thomas grinned and shook his head.

"What, and miss the chance to see the look on his face when he wakes up?" he asked incredulously. "As if!"

Jeff grinned, returning his gaze to his eldest child. He had to agree with Thomas on that point; the look on his son's face would certainly be one for the photo album. Leaning down, he brushed a kiss against Scott's forehead, smiling fondly as the younger man let out a small sigh in his sleep.

Oh yes, Scott was definitely adorable.

* * *

**_How will Scott react when he awakens to discover that his closest friend has arrived on the island? How will Andy react when he finally gets to see the damage that the Tracy boys sustained on the rescue mission? And how will the rest of the island react when they awaken to discover just how seriously the rest of the 'family' had been injured on the previous evening? Find out next time!_**

**_Thanks for reading, guys! I hope you enjoyed the chapter. If so, PLEASE REVIEW and brighten up my rather cloudly day, huh? I don't know when I'll next be able to update. Between hospital visits, college and dance, I'm gonna be pretty busy. But I'll try and get another chapter posted sometime before Friday. Until then, have a great week!_**

**_Bump xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox_**


	24. Chapter 24: Big Brothers

**_Hi folks,_**

**_Thanks for being so patient with me this week. I've spent an awful lot of time at the hospital with my gran, as her condition is still very serious. She's a long way from being well enough to come home, I'm afraid. Turns out that she has bone cancer in her ribs, another form of caner in her abdominal cavity and a serious infection in her gall bladder that had spread to her liver and kidneys. But the doctors are going to try a whole bunch of treatments, so there's still a chance that she'll be able to fully recover from this. Thank God for the NHS, huh?_**

**_Thanks for all the great reviews, the comments were so kind and thoughtful. Sorry for not responding to you all, but as I said, I've been a little busy. But know that every one of your comments was appreciated, and it was great to get such a nice response. Love you guys!_**

**_This chapter is for you all, and especially for Lissysue85, whose support kept me thinking positive all week long. Big hugs from me to you! You rule, honey!_**

* * *

Alan rubbed a towel over his wet hair, stepping across the floor of his ensuite bathroom and coming to a halt in front of the sink. Letting out a short sigh, he slung the towel around his neck and glanced up, frowning at himself in the mirror. He looked terrible. The massive dark smudges beneath his bloodshot eyes were all too obvious, and everything about his posture and expression just seemed to scream at him to go back to bed_._ And Alan knew that this was exactly what his body required. However, his mind disagreed.

Squirting a blob of toothpaste onto his toothbrush, he shook his head. _Dad's not gonna be happy when he sees me. Eight hours, he told me. Eight! How the heck did he expect me to stay in bed **that** long when the guys are still in the infirmary? Besides, I've slept for what - five hours? That's good enough for me._

Rinsing his mouth out, Alan frowned again. He had a feeling that his father wasn't going to see things his way. But he couldn't help it. He'd woken up at eight-forty-five, and hadn't been able to get back to sleep again. His mind was just too alert with the worries that were pulsing around in his head. He desperately wanted to see Virgil again, just to make sure that his brother's condition hadn't worsened during the night.

Stepping back into his bedroom, Alan bent down to grab his favourite pair of sneakers, perching on the edge of his bed so that he could pull them on. After fumbling hurriedly with the laces, he pushed himself back up again, grimacing as the muscles in his arms and legs twinged painfully. Striding towards the door, he rubbed a hand over the line of black bruises that marred the underside of his left arm. His body hadn't really ached all that much before he had gone to bed, but now - now it felt as though he'd managed to pull at least fifty muscles in his arms and legs. It wasn't exactly a pleasant feeling.

Walking down the corridor slowly, he cast a quick glance over his shoulder. He was only mildly surprised to see that Gordon's bedroom door was shut, indicating that his older brother still occupied the room. _I guess Gordon must've gone to bed even later than I did. But knowing Gords, he'll be up and about in less than an hour, and he'll **still** have the energy of a hyperactive six-year-old. Well, he's gonna be a major contrast with my energy levels. I think I'll skip the jog this morning. I doubt I'd even make it past the end of the pool._

Alan swiftly made his way towards the main corridor, intending to take the quickest route to the west wing of the villa, where the infirmary was situated. However, as he strode past the living room, a voice called out to him, making him jump out of his skin and stop dead in his tracks.

"Alan!"

Turning around on the spot, Alan smiled as he spotted the family housekeeper hurrying towards him.

"Hey, Onaha," he greeted, trying to sound more awake than he felt as he tried to slow his racing hearbeat.

"Good morning, sweetheart," Onaha smiled, giving Alan a motherly hug and a tender kiss on the cheek. Pulling away, she looked at the youngest Tracy boy steadily and reached out a hand to cup his cheek, running her thumb gently over his skin. "How are you feeling?"

Alan shrugged, glancing down and letting out a short sigh. "I'm okay," he replied softly. "Just tired."

Onaha chuckled softly, and Alan looked back up again to see the Malaysian woman shaking her head and smiling at him fondly.

"That may have something to do with the fact that you, my dear, only went to bed at four o'clock this morning," she stated, brushing her hands over his shoulders to smooth out the wrinkles in his shirt. At Alan's surprised and questioning expression, she smiled again. "Your father told me everything earlier this morning."

"Oh," Alan murmured, glancing down the corridor and swallowing slightly. "So - so you know about Virge then?"

Onaha nodded, patting his arm gently. "I went to see him about an hour ago," she soothed. "And he was just fine. He's breathing on his own now, and Thomas told me that it won't be long before he is awake again."

Alan sighed in relief. "That's great," he smiled. "Thanks, Onaha. I - I think I'm just gonna go check on the guys."

As Alan turned to walk away, a gentle hand caught his arm, pulling him back again.

"No, you are coming straight to my kitchen," Onaha informed him gently. "You haven't eaten anything since dinner yesterday evening, and I won't have anybody saying that I don't feed my boys. Now come; your brothers aren't going anywhere. You can see them as soon as you've eaten a good breakfast."

Alan pouted. "Can't I go see them before breakfast?" he pleaded, a hint of a whine in his voice as he looked back down the corridor.

"No, sweetheart," Onaha replied fondly, giving Alan a gentle push in the opposite direction. "I know you too well. You will end up forgetting about breakfast, and you'll spend all morning in the infirmary. Now, I know you're worried about your brothers, but I'm not going to let you skip breakfast. And besides, you know how concerned your brothers become when you don't eat."

Alan nodded, realising the truth behind her words. "Okay," he said, sighing in resignation. "I'll come quietly."

Five minutes later, he found himself sitting at the breakfast table, tucking into a massive plate of chocolate-chip pancakes. Alan smiled in bliss as he chewed on his mouthful, realising for the first time that morning just how hungry he was. Taking a sip from his glass of orange juice, he glanced around the dining table, feeling a small pang in his chest when his eyes fell upon the unoccupied chairs. This was the first breakfast that he'd had on his own in a long time. More often than not, at least two of his siblings were also present, since Tracy's tended to be early risers. Virgil, of course, was the only exception to that stereotype. He'd never been much of a morning person.

Thinking about Virgil fueled Alan's desire to go visit his brothers, and he began to attack his food with a greater speed and determination. Just as he shoved the last bite into his mouth, an amused snort emanated from somewhere on the other side of the room. Turning around in his seat, Alan spotted Thomas standing in the doorway, watching him with a massive grin upon his face.

"You know kid," the doctor began, stepping into the room and putting a hand on Alan's shoulder. "It's not actually a race."

Alan swallowed his mouthful and smiled up at the older man. "Hey Tom," he greeted. "How are the guys doing?"

Thomas dropped down into the empty seat beside Alan and rested an elbow upon the table, propping his head up in his hand and drumming his fingers against his scalp lazily. Instead of answering the question, he merely gazed at Alan with a neutral expression upon his face, allowing the silence to stretch out for several seconds.

"What?" Alan asked, frowning slightly. "What, why are you staring at me like that? Tom, _what_?!"

"What time is it?" Thomas asked lightly, every part of his body remaining perfectly still, other than his lips. Alan glanced down at his watch.

"Nine-fifteen," he replied slowly, his frown deepening. "Why?"

"What time did you go to bed?" Thomas continued, his gaze unyielding. Alan groaned, knowing exactly where this conversation was heading.

"Tom," he began, the childish whine jumping back into his voice before he could stop it.

"That's m'name," the doctor smiled. "Don't overuse it."

Alan frowned. "Tom, I don't get what you're-"

"Alan, what are you doing out of bed?" Thomas asked in exasperation, finally getting to the point. He dropped his arm so that it rested on his lap, leaning forwards and gazing into Alan's face. "You only went to sleep just over five hours ago. You look like a zombie, kiddo."

Alan rolled his eyes, standing up and carrying his plate and glass over to the serving counter. Thomas watched him go with a look of mock-outrage upon his face, his mouth hanging open as he stared at the young teenager in apparent shock.

"You did _not _just roll you eyes at me!" he said, feigning anger. Alan laughed, smiling at Onaha as she stepped through the doorway to the kitchen and took the breakfast dishes from his hands.

"Thanks for breakfast, Onaha," he said warmly. "It was great."

Thomas jumped up off the chair and rounded the table, still frowning grumpily. As Alan turned back around again to face him, he crossed his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow, staring at the grinning boy for a long moment.

"The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, I see," he stated. "All your dad ever does is bully me these days."

Alan laughed again, pushing himself up to sit on top of the marble counter, swinging his legs slightly as he regarded the old family friend in mild amusement. Then Thomas uncrossed his arms, his face becoming a little more serious as he stepped forward and extended a hand towards Alan.

"Let me see your arm a sec, kiddo," he instructed. Alan sighed again.

"Tom, it's fine," he stated. "Dad checked it out last night, anyway. It's just a bruise, there's nothing to worry about."

"I know," Thomas replied evenly. "Now gimme."

Taking Alan's arm by the wrist, he turned it over so that the row of large black splodges were facing upwards. After making Alan clench and unclench his hand several times, the doctor seemed satisfied.

"See? That wasn't so bad," he smiled. Alan hopped off the counter, smiling at Thomas before turning towards the door and beginning to walk away. However, Thomas caught his wrist again before he had gone more than three paces. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Where are you going in such a hurry?"

"The infirmary," Alan replied. "Speaking of which-" he frowned, cocking his head to the side. "Aren't you supposed to be in there too? Don't tell me that you've gotten sick of looking after Scott already?"

Thomas grinned, waving off his remark. "Nah, I just came up here to get us another dose of caffeine," he stated. "And besides, Andy can handle your brothers on his own, he's had plenty of experience."

Alan's eyes widened at this, and he replayed Thomas' last sentence over and over in his mind, trying to clarify whether or not he had heard the doctor correctly. Thomas just grinned down at him, clearly loving his reaction.

"Andy's here?" Alan finally managed to ask. "When? How?"

"He arrived about twenty minutes ago," Thomas explained, smiling at Onaha as she exited the kitchen once more and handed him a steaming pot of coffee. "He flew straight from Boston airbase after your dad and I called him earlier this morning."

"Awesome!" Alan grinned, a bubble of happiness and excitement battling its way to the surface, pushing aside the feeling of worry and concern that had been weighing him down since he had first woken up that morning.

As Thomas and Alan turned to depart - Thomas clutching onto the pot of coffee as though he were carrying the world's most treasured possession - Onaha poked her head out of the kitchen door once more and called after them.

"Alan?"

The blond-haired teenager glanced over his shoulder. "Hmm?"

"When you see Fermat, please tell him to get himself down to my kitchen," she smiled. "He skipped breakfast when your father told him about what had happened to Virgil. I allowed him to get away with it because he was so worried about the boys, but I won't let him go hungry. Oh, and Thomas?"

"Yup?" the doctor smiled, turning around so that he faced the Malaysian woman.

"If you see Mr. Tracy, please give him the same message," Onaha instructed. "He, too, has not yet eaten breakfast."

"Sure thing, Onaha," Thomas replied, moving towards the door as he spoke. "But it might not be for a while; he consented to sleeping for a couple of hours just after Andy arrived. But I'll be sure to tell him as soon as he wakes up. And thanks for the coffee, you're a lifesaver."

As Alan stepped out into the corridor with the older dark-haired man, he glanced up at Thomas and raised an eyebrow. Keeping his steady pace constant, Thomas glanced to the side and caught Alan's eye, smiling slightly.

"What?" he asked softly.

"How did you manage to get Dad to go to bed?" Alan inquired. "He never gives in so easily."

Thomas scoffed. "D'you think it was _easy_? Damn no. I was _this_ close to sedating him earlier this morning," the doctor held up a hand, thumb and index finger a few centimetres apart. "But luckily, the old man saw sense and went to take a nap in Virgil's room about fifteen minutes ago."

Alan grinned, raising his other eyebrow. "Old man?" he repeated. "You do realise you're the same age as him, right?"

Thomas rolled his eyes and refrained from further comment. Alan smirked triumphantly.

_Alan, one - Thomas, nil._

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

_Aw crap._

John could feel himself speeding towards consciousness, and he was already regretting having woken up. His head was killing him. It seemed to throb with every heartbeat, sending a deep, sharp pain through the centre of his brain. And boy did it hurt.

Wincing, John forced his eyes to open, immediately shutting them again as the light seemed to detonate an explosion of pain within his skull. Letting out a pained groan, he gritted his teeth, wishing more than anything that he had just remained asleep. Consciousness was far too painful.

"John?"

The voice slammed into his head like a speeding monorail, sending daggers of white-hot pain through his temples. He winced, sucking in a sharp breath as his head throbbed mercilessly. He felt a hand resting lightly upon his shoulder, and he gritted his teeth, carefully opening his eyes and squinting up at the figure that stood above him. A worried bespectacled face peered down at him, a concerned frown tugging at the young brow.

"Hey," Fermat greeted softly, keeping his voice just above a whisper. John blinked up at him, his usually clear eyes clouded by pain and fatigue.

"Hey," the blond replied, his voice croaking slightly. Fermat's smile widened, and he felt relief coursing through him.

"H-how are you feeling?" he asked, pushing his glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose.

John closed his eyes again, grunting softly. "Like crap," he admitted.

Fermat smiled sympathetically. "Head hurting you?" he inquired.

John nodded slightly, before stilling his movements and hissing through his teeth as a dagger of pain seared through his skull. Instead, he swallowed and cleared his throat, opening his eyes again and staring up at the ceiling groggily.

"Like a b-" he began, before stopping and trying again. "Yeah, it hurts."

Fermat's smile was grenuine this time, and he squeezed John's shoulder. "That's understandable," he stated quietly. "According to Tom, you g-g- sustained a pretty nasty concussion. I'd say your head's gonna hur-hur- smart for quite some time."

John merely grunted in acknowledgement, and Fermat straightened up, turning to look at the door to the lab on the other side of the room. Beginning to walk forward, he glanced over his shoulder and whispered to John;

"I'll go and get And-"

The '_hiss'_ of the infirmary doors resounded in the room, and Fermat paused, turning towards the sound and smiling as he spotted his friend stepping into the room. Thomas followed closely behind, a large pot of coffee in his hands.

"Alan!" Fermat whispered, remembering the need to keep his voice down. His best friend grinned at him, striding over to where he stood at the foot of John's bed. Clapping the younger teenager on the back, Alan sighed softly.

"Hey, Ferm," he smiled, locking eyes with the miniature genius and raising an eyebrow. "You do realise that this is probably the first time in at least three years when you've been up before me?"

Fermat grinned, touching fists with the youngest Tracy son and feeling a little of the stress ebb away. He had been consumed by worry since he had first been told the full details about what had happened to Virgil after he had gone to bed. But now he could feel himself beginning to relax. Alan always seemed to have that affect on people. Even on his older brothers.

Turning towards Thomas, Fermat indicated John's form with a jerk of his head.

"John's awake," he stated softly. Thomas glanced over at the blond-haired Tracy, noticing his pained grimace, and quickly set the pot of coffee down on a nearby counter. Striding over the bedside, he reached out to gently grasp John's shoulder, smiling as the younger man opened his eyes.

"Morning, sleepy-head," he greeted, reaching into his pocket and retrieving his penlight. Flashing it in John's eyes, he winced sympathetically as John sucked in a pained breath, stiffening slightly and closing his eyes again. "Head hurt?" he guessed.

John gave a tentative nod, just as he had done before, and let his breath out in a long, slow sigh. Thomas retrieved a hypodermic needle from the trolley beside the bed, glancing meaningfully at Alan as he picked up a small bottle of clear liquid. Alan shuffled closer to John's side, taking his brother's hand and smiling as John blinked up at him.

"John, I'm gonna push some drugs into your IV line, okay?" Thomas said softly, inserting the needle into the bottle and withdrawing the appropriate dosage.

John closed his eyes again. "Oh goody," he mumbled sarcastically.

Alan smiled at his brother's remark, even as he felt John return his grip. John was one of the most fearless men that Alan had ever met, but that didn't mean he wasn't afraid of anything. John's needle phobia had always been a problem for him, especially since being a member of International Rescue required you to be inoculated against so many different diseases. But John had battled through those with the help of his family, and Alan was certain that this would be no exception. As long as John wasn't on his own when he was having a shot, he was usually fine.

Thomas dropped the used needle into the disposable plastic box on the trolley, pulling off his surgical gloves and smiling at the two Tracy sons. Then he looked around the room, a small frown tugging at his brow.

"Say, where's Andy?" he asked, to nobody in particular.

"He's l-looking at Virgil's x-rays," Fermat replied, pointing towards the door to the lab on the other side of the infirmary. "He'll be out in a minute."

John frowned, confused. Now that the throbbing within his head at lessened slightly, he found himself waking up a little more. And he was almost one-hundred percent sure that Thomas had just said the name 'Andy'. But that jut couldn't be right, could it? Andy was still in Boston.

Opening his eyes, John glanced over at Thomas. "Andy?" he repeated, questioningly.

Thomas grinned. "Yup. Junior's gonna be taking care of you whilst I get some much needed shut-eye."

John cracked a small smile, closing his eyes once again.

"Awesome," he murmured, letting out a gentle sigh. Then he frowned, gazing up at the ceiling and blinking as he tried to bring his eyes into focus. "Can I please sit up?" he asked. "The view from this angle ain't exactly interesting."

Thomas laughed, taking up the remote that controlled the bed and pressing the button so that the top-end began to rise. Sharing an amused glance with Alan, he dropped the remote back down again and reached out to pat John on the shoulder.

"That better?" he asked softly. John nodded, then frowned, glancing down at his chest where his arm was secured in a blue sling.

"What happened?" he asked, flexing his fingers and wincing slightly. "Why's my arm in a sling?"

Thomas reached over to remove the sling, taking John's hand and carefully extending the arm. John's winced, admiring the collage of bruises that ran from his wrist all the way up his arm, disappearing beneath the sleeve of his shirt. As the doctor began to prod and poke the limb gently, Alan laid a hand on his brother's shoulder, smiling sympathetically.

"How much do you remember from last night?" he asked.

John shrugged, glancing around the room slowly. "Not much," he admitted. "I don't think I was- Virgil!"

John's eyes widened in horror as he spotted his younger brother lying on the bed on the other side of the infirmary. He gazed in shock at the pale face, the nose and moth concealed behind an oxygen mask. As John stared at Virgil's unmoving form, a sudden movement caught his eye. Glancing across the room to the bed opposite him, he felt his stomach drop as he spotted Scott lying on a third bed. John's mouth, if at all possible, went even dryer.

Alan could have slapped himself for forgetting that John hadn't yet been told about what had happened during the rescue. Putting both his hands on John's chest, he pushed his older brother back against the pillows as the astronaut made as though to get up.

"Easy, John," he soothed. "It's alright, they're okay. They're just asleep."

John gazed at his baby brother properly for the first time that morning, and suddenly noticed that the young teenager looked terrible. Massive black bags hung beneath his bloodshot eyes, and even the colour of his skin was a shade paler than normal.

"Allie," he murmured, feeling thoroughly confused. "What the hell happened?"

Thomas reached over and placed a hand on the back of John's neck, gazing steadily at the older blond Tracy. Sighing softly, he glanced over at Scott before turning back to John and giving him a small smile.

"Last night, things didn't quite go according to plan," he explained. "You, Virgil and Scott were injured during the rescue. Scott sustained a nasty laceration to his leg and broke three fingers in his left hand. You managed to knock yourself out and get a nasty concussion, plus you nearly squished your arm in the process. And Virgil-" he paused, letting out another small sigh. "Virgil suffered a tension pneumothorax."

John's eyes widened even further. "His lung collapsed?!" he exclaimed, before stiffening, dropping his head into his hands and rubbing at his temples. "Ow."

"What's all this noise about, hmm?"

At the familiar and friendly voice, four heads snapped up towards the door to the laboratory on the other side of the room. Andrew Myers stood leaning casually against the door-frame, dressed in jeans and a light shirt with his stethoscope hanging around his neck. Alan's face broke into a grin.

"Andy!" he cried, although he made sure his voice remained as quiet as possible. The young doctor smiled, striding across the infirmary and pulling the youngest Tracy into a firm hug.

"Hey, buddy," he greeted cheerfully. "Long time no see, huh?"

Pulling away, Alan grinned up at him happily, and Andy clapped him fondly on the shoulder. Then stepping up to the bedside, he clasped John's right hand in his own, reaching out to squeeze the younger man's shoulder.

"Morning, sunshine," he smiled. "How's the head?"

John smiled at him weakly, before dropping his gaze and letting out a small sigh. "Hurts," he admitted.

Andy nodded. "Thought so. That's usually what happens when you pick a fight with a collapsing ceiling. Vision bothering you much?"

John gave a small shake of his head. "It's just a little fuzzy," he replied softly. Then glancing back up at Andy, he gazed at the older man questioningly. "It's great to see you and all, but - but what are you doing here? I thought you weren't supposed to be here 'til Friday? Wait a sec-" he paused, frowning slightly. "What day is it?"

Andy smiled. "Don't worry, man, it's still only Tuesday," he stated. "I flew down a few days early so that I could help patch you up. I have a feeling that Tom and I are gonna have our hands full taking care of you lot over the next couple of weeks."

John smiled wearily, settling back against the pillows and blinking in an attempt to keep his eyes open. Andy leaned forward, reaching out and gently pulling the covers up and over John's torso.

"Get some rest, pal," he instructed softly. "The combination of post-concussion syndrome and drugs is gonna take its toll on your body. You're gonna want to sleep for at least the next twenty-four hours. And that's fine by me. I'll need to wake you up every couple of hours to poke you and shine lights in your eyes until you're so sick of me, you might just want to punch me - but I'm afraid that's all part and parcel of having a concussion. Oh, and speaking of sleep..."

Turning to Thomas, he pointed towards the door. "Bed," he said firmly.

Thomas gave a mock salute. "Yes captain, my captain," he replied sarcastically, rolling his eyes and sharing a small grin with Alan. As he turned towards the door, he caught hold of Fermat's hand and gave him a gentle tug. "C'mon, kiddo, you need breakfast."

"I'm n-n- fine," Fermat tried to argue. "I'll eat later."

Alan gave an amused snort. "Dude, do you seriously want to face Onaha's wrath?"

Fermat chewed his bottom lip momentarily. "D'you think she'd notice?"

Alan gave Fermat an incredulous look. "What do _you_ think?"

Sighing in resignation, the younger teenager nodded. "Yeah, I guess you're right," he relented. "Okay f-fine, I'll go. I won't be long. Call me if anything happens, okay?"

As Fermat jogged out of the room, Thomas ran a hand through his hair, before rubbing it over his face and inhaling deeply. Turning back towards Alan, John and Andy, he smiled, giving them a small wave.

"Wake me up if there are any problems," he stated. "I'll be in my room if you need me. Oh, and Alan, if your Dad wakes up, he's not allowed more than two cups of coffee, understood? God knows how much of the stuff he drank last night."

As the doors '_swished'_ closed behind the older doctor, Andy leaned against the side of John's mattress and smiled, feeling at home once more. Glancing down at the younger man beside him, he noticed that John had already drifted off to sleep again. Turning to Alan, he put a finger to his lips, jerking his head in the direction of the counter on the other side of the room. Walking quietly away from the bedside, they came to a stop a few feet away from the end of Scott's bed, both letting out gentle sighs. A short silence fell between them; the sort of content and comfortable silence that Alan didn't mind so much. He was just glad that Andy was there with him.

"Alan?"

Glancing up at the older man, Alan looked at him questioningly. "Yeah?"

Stepping over to the counter and turned around, Andy leaned against the surface casually. Beckoning the youngest Tracy closer, he frowned at Alan's bruised arm, raising an eyebrow and reaching out to take the limb gently.

"When did you do this?" he asked softly.

Alan rolled his eyes. Why did everyone seem to have fixation with his minor injuries? "Last night, when the canistor blew up near mobile control."

"It blew up? Are you alright?" Andy inquired, his eyes narrowing as his gaze flickered over the rest of Alan's body as though trying to locate any further injuries. Alan let out a frustrated sigh, reflecting on just how freakishly similar Andy's mother-hen habits were in comparison with Scott's.

"No, I'm not alright. As you can see, I got my leg blown off in the process," Alan replied sarcastically. Andy frowned, reaching out to pull Alan into a headlock and ruffle his hair.

"Why you little-" he began, only to break off as a pained groan resounded in the room. Andy immediately released Alan from the gentle hold, spinning round on the spot and glancing over to where Scott was shifting beneath the coverlets. A somewhat childish grin blossomed across his face, and he turned to look at Alan.

"Pretend I'm not here!" he whispered, before running over to the the laboratory door and entering the small room, disappearing from sight. Shaking his head and smiling at Andy's immature behaviour, Alan stepped over to his eldest brother's bedside, reaching out to take Scott's hand as the older Tracy lat out another soft moan.

...

Scott was battling his way into consciousness, swimming through the thick fog that seemed to surround his brain on all sides. He could hear low voices talking somewhere nearby; familiar, friendly voices. Ploughing his way to the surface of his subconsciousness, he began to grow aware of deep, throbbing pain in his limbs. Suddenly, being awake seemed a little less desirable.

Scott grimaced slightly at the dull ache in his limbs became fully apparent. He hurt. All over.

"Scotty?"

But that voice he knew. Oh yes, he definitely knew that voice. But what was Alan doing in his bedroom? And why did his body feel as though he had just picked a fight with a raging rhinoceros?

His eyelids felt like sandpaper against his eyes and he forced then to open, blinking up in confusion at the ceiling that was definitely _not_ his own. Alan's face appeared above him, smiling happily, and suddenly Scott realised where he was. He sat up swiftly, his eyes darting rapidly between the two beds on either side of the room as he gazed worriedly at his injured younger siblings. Alan put his hands on Scott's shoulders, trying to push him back down again.

"Whoa, Scotty, it's okay," the teenager soothed hurriedly. "Virgil and John are doin' great. I just spoke to John a minute ago, and he seemed pretty lucid considering how bad the concussion was. And Virgil - well, I haven't actually got round to asking for a full evaluation, but he's looking a whole lot better than he did after - well - you know."

Scott eyes stopped darting between the two beds, and he turned to look over at Alan in concern. He noticed the dark circles beneath Alan's eyes, and he could practically feel the stress that his baby brother was emanating at the moment. Despite Alan's best efforts to hide his fears, he was obviously still pretty shaken up over everything that had happened over the past twelve hours or so.

Pressing the button on the remote so that the top-end of his bed rose slightly, Scott shuffled to the side and made room for Alan on the edge of the mattress, extending an arm and beckoning for the younger Tracy to sit beside him. Alan gratefully perched on the edge of the bed, leaning into Scott's embrace and letting out a soft sigh. Scott smiled, resting his chin atop Alan's head and feeling a little more at ease as his big-brother instincts kicked into overdrive. He was now treading on more familiar ground.

"Aaw, ain't that adorable?"

Scott's head shot up, his jaw practically dropping into his lap as he spotted the grinning man standing at the foot of his bed. He opened and closed his mouth several times, unable to comprehend the situation. The doctor just smiled at him.

"Good mornin', munchkin!" he greeted cheerfully. Scott finally found his voice.

"Andy?!" he gasped. "What the hell?!"

Andy laughed, coming around the opposite side of the bed to Alan and carefully pushing the IV pole out of the way. Grinning down at his best friend, he crossed his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow.

"What the hell?" he repeated, his voice taking on a hurt tone. "I travel miles and miles before the break of dawn to see you, and _that's_ all you can say to me? Gee thanks, Scooter, it's good to see you too."

Scott's face broke into a delighted grin, and Andy bent down slightly so that the two of them could embrace - somewhat awkwardly, of course, since Scott's movements were limited by the IV line in his arm.

"Dude, when did you get here?" Scott asked, his face full of childish excitement. "And how?"

"Teleport," Andy replied flatly, reaching over to the bedside table and pouring a glass of water from the jug that sat there. Handing the glass to Scott, he smiled. "The aliens owed me a few favours."

"Hilarious," Scott mumbled dryly - in both senses of the word, since his mouth felt parched. Taking a sip of the water, he shook his head. "You should've been a stand-up comedian. But seriously, when _did_ you get here? And what time is it? And- Alan, what the heck did you do to your arm?!"

Alan, who had been watching the exchange between the two men with a slight smirk on his face, gave a startled jump at Scott's sudden exclamation. Glancing down at his bruised arm, he rolled his eyes and let out an exaggerated groan.

"You've got to be kidding me," he murmured. "It's just a bruise dammit, would you please leave me alone?!"

From the doorway, Jeff Tracy watched 'his boys' interact with a fond smile tugging at his lips. He hadn't been able to fall asleep, as the worry that had coursed through him had prevented him from being able to relax. But now he felt as though he could finally calm down. He was glad to hear his sons laughing again. Yes, bringing Andy to the island had definitely been a wise move. The young doctor would help to heal both the physical _and_ the emotional wounds that his sons had sustained.

Because that's what family did; they took care of each other.

* * *

**_In the next chapter, how is Virgil coping with everything that's happened to him? What is his response to discovering the extent of his injuries. And, more importantly, will he consent be being kept in bed for an extended period of time, or will that old Tracy stubbornness battle it's way to the surface and give Thomas and Andy a hard time? Find out soon!_**

**_There you go, another chapter posted. I hoped you enjoyed it. Apologies if reading this made anyone feel tired, apparently my last few chapters have had that affect on one reader in particular. I really wanted to show a nice dollop of family fluff in this chapter, which is why it was mainly centred around the infirmary. And for all those who think that John's headache sounded extremely nasty - good, it was supposed to. Trust me, post-concussion syndrome is no picnic._**

**_My dance lesson for tomorrow afternoon has been cancelled, so that should give me a few more hours in which to type. Therefore, I hope to have the next chapter posted by Tuesday or Wednesday. Hopefully Tuesday, but I guess it depends on how much work I get given. I have prelim exams at the end of this week, so I'm gonna have my nose in a text book for the majority of my free time. But I'll do my best to update, I promise!_**

**_PLEASE REVIEW and feed me up with all the concrit and other comments that us authors are addicted to. There are only a a couple more chapters to go until the end of this story, so I'd love to hear from you if you've enjoyed my work so far. Have a great week, and I'll see you soon!_**

**_xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox_**


	25. Chapter 25: The Impatient Patients

**_Hi everybody!_**

**_Thanks again for being so understanding this week, your kindness and patience really does mean a lot to me. My grandma has been moved to a hospice now, so her immediate environment is a lot nicer than it was at the hospital. She's at peace and no longer in great pain, and I think that's easier on everybody involved. Thank you for your prayers.  
_**

**_Big hugs go to 'Lissysue85' and 'criminally charmed' this week. Your support really helped me to come to terms with what's been happening recently, and I owe you guys a lot. You can put it on my tab. So this chapters for you two, okay? Luv ya both! _**

* * *

Virgil jerked awake, grimacing at the immediate pain he felt in his limbs. He hadn't meant to fall asleep again, but apparently his body had disagreed. Sighing, he glanced around the infirmary, noticing that he was still in a half-sitting position on the bed. Andy had allowed him to sit up a little on the condition that he didn't move a muscle without the older doctor's expressed permission. In truth, considering how much pain he was in simply lying there and _breathing, _he didn't think there was any danger that he'd jump out of bed and start dancing a jig just yet.

The room was a good deal darker than it had been before, and the overhead lights had been turned down to their dimmest setting. Rolling his head to the side lazily, Virgil peered through the gloom at the clock on the far wall, blinking in surprise when he saw that it was nine-thirty.

_Geez, how long have I been asleep? Must be going on twelve hours now. I wonder what-_

Hearing a gently snore close by, Virgil glanced sideways and smiled softly at the sleeping form of his father beside him. Jeff's arms were pillowing his head on the area of mattress next to Virgil's torso, the rest of his body slumped in a chair at the bedside - in a position that Virgil was sure wouldn't do his father's back any favours. However, he could tell that the Tracy patriarch needed to rest, the deep lines of concern and stress creasing his motionless face even in sleep, and he didn't have the heart to wake him. Besides, waking him would require energy - a thing that Virgil lacked in its entirety.

_'I guess it could be worse, though,' _he mused, shifting his left arm slightly and wincing as the muscles wrenched painfully. Considering the severity of his condition, he knew that he was lucky to be alive. If Alan hadn't found him in sickbay - well, the results would have been very different. Such things, however, were in the past. He was alive and relatively whole, and that was all that mattered. And besides, being seriously injured did have its advantages; Virgil had been delighted to awaken to see Andy's face hovering above him.

In many ways, Andy had been his inspiration for medicine. True, he had always held a certain fascination about the subject, but it had been the events that had taken place almost ten years ago - when Alan and Gordon had been flown to hospital after being injured in a thunderstorm - that had hardened his resolve to become a doctor. And although medicine wasn't his official profession, it still separated him out from the rest of the Tracy clan.

_Well, apart from Alan. Over the past few months, that kid's been showing a keenness in medicine that I've never seen in another Tracy before. I guess he got that aspect of his character from me, just like he got his love of pranks from Gordon and his stubborn determination from - well - all of us, I guess._

"Virgil?"

The middle Tracy son glanced up, smiling weakly at Andy as the older man stepped over to his bed.

"Hey," Virgil greeted softly, frowning as his voice croaked again. Swallowing, he sighed heavily. _Darn tube's gone and roughed up my throat.  
_

"Good to see you awake again," Andy murmured quietly, unhooking the stethoscope from around his neck and tucking the cold tip under the hem of Virgil's t-shirt, pressing it against his chest. The pilot sucked in a sharp breath as the cool object chilled his skin, fisting up a handful of the coverlet, and the doctor winced apologetically. "Sorry, kid."

"S'okay," Virgil mumbled, his energy reserves quickly running out. It was truly surprising just how much energy one required to hold a conversation. All he had said so far was 'hey' and 'okay', and already his body was urging him to take another nap. No, he had changed his mind about being injured; it totally sucked.

Andy pushed the long t-shirt up, blowing on the stethoscope this time to warm it before applying it to the bruised ribcage. "Deep breath, Virge. Nice and slow, don't try too hard. Stop when it hurts too much, okay? If you push yourself, you'll end up having a secondary retraction. Uh-huh. Good, that's it. Now try breathing through your nose. And again."

As Virgil slowly inhaled, he could feel his bruised and swollen skin protesting. His ribcage throbbed mercilessly as the pressure on his chest increased. Andy glanced up and frowned at the pained expression on the middle Tracy's face. Tapping him gently on the cheek, the Air Force medic fixed him with a glare.

"What did I just say?" he asked. "_Don't_ push yourself, Virge. The only way to heal is to know you boundaries and _not_ to overstep them. You're just gonna make matters worse if you tear another hole in your fibrous tissue."

Virgil sighed again, hating the feeling of being so weak and dependent. He was used to being the one in charge, the one who gave the orders, the one who took care of his brothers. But being _in_ one of the infirmary beds was a whole new experience. And Virgil didn't like it one bit.

Slinging the stethoscope back around his neck, Andy smiled and took out a penlight from his pocket. Tilting Virgil's chin up, he shone the light in the younger man's honey-burnt eyes, looking thoughtful as he 'hmmd' to himself. Dropping his hands, he gazed at Virgil steadily.

"On the scale of one to ten, how bad's the pain?" he asked. Virgil gritted his teeth, plastering a weak smile onto his face. His ribs throbbed in protest to the lie that he knew he was about to tell.

"S'not too bad," he mumbled. "Maybe five."

Andy snorted. "Since you're a Tracy, I think we'll take that figure up to a nine, shall we?"

Virgil closed his eyes wearily. He didn't want any more pain meds. He was tired enough as it was. He wanted to stay awake long enough to talk to his brothers.

"Andy-" he began, his voice taking on a hint of a whine. The older man, who had been pulling on a pair of surgical gloves, held up a silencing hand.

"Don't argue," he said softly, leaning forwards and lifting the dressing on the side of Virgil's chest to check on the puncture wound where the chest tube had previously been inserted. Nodding in approval, he gently stuck the dressing back down again. Straightening up, he checked on the bag of saline that was attached to the drip in Virgil's right arm. Then picking up the syringe that was lying ready on the metal trolley at the bedside, he inserted the needle into the valve on the IV line, pushing the drugs into the thin pipe and watching as they traveled down into Virgil's arm.

"There you go," Andy smiled, pulling off his gloves and ruffling Virgil's hair. "They should kick in soon enough, kiddo."

Virgil raised an eyebrow, leaning his head back against the pillows behind him and regarding the young doctor in mild amusement.

"Kiddo?" he repeated.

Andy nodded. "Yup. I'm nearly nine years older than you, little dude, so I have the right to call you 'kiddo' if I want to. And besides, what are you gonna do to stop me, hmm?"

Virgil smiled softly, closing his eyes. "I'm gonna kick your ass," he mumbled.

Letting out a short laugh, Andy shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. "Like to see you try."

"Shut up," the middle Tracy grinned, trying and failing to sound hurt. Opening his eyes again, he glanced around the room, frowning as he spotted an empty bed opposite him. His heart skipped a beat, and all thoughts of sleep flew out of his mind. "Where the hell's Scott?"

The older man frowned, turning towards Scott's empty bed and cocking his head to the side as though trying to work out the answer to Virgil's question. He turned back around ever so slowly, wearing a confused and contemplative expression, his brow wrinkled in concentration. After a moment, he locked eyes with Virgil, and a manic grin erupted across his face.

"Sorry," he chuckled. "I couldn't resist. Don't worry, Virge, Scott's fine. I let him get up and take a shower about half an hour ago. He was driving me crazy with his whining."

Virgil smiled, tugging at the bandage on his arm gently. "Well, now you know how I feel when I have him as a patient."

"I already knew. Hey!" Andy gently slapped Virgil's hand away from the dressing. "Don't pull at it, Virge."

Virgil rolled his eyes, dropping his hand back down and glancing over at the sleeping form of his father, another smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as Jeff snored softly. The young pilot let out a sigh, leaning back against the pillows again and allowing his gaze to drift over to where John lay snoozing upon the third bed on the far side of the room.

"How are John's vitals?" he asked softly, watching the steady rise and fall of his older brother's chest.

"Good," Andy replied, setting down the data-pad he had been using and perching on the edge of the mattress. "Apart from a whopper of a headache and a few visual problems, he's okay. I'll keep him in here another day or so, just to make sure, but he should be back to his old self by the end of the week. I think I'll let Scott sleep in his own bed tonight. Apart from being as sore as hell, and just as grumpy, he's fine."

"And what about Alan?" Virgil pressed. "And Gordon? Are they alright?"

Andy nodded. "They're both fine. I made them take a walk about fifteen minutes ago; they've spent almost all day in here and they needed to get some exercise. And besides, Gordon's pacing was driving me crazy. You know what he's like when he's worried."

Virgil nodded, relieved that his brothers were going to be alright. He could relax now. A short silence fell between them, interrupted only by the sound of gentle breathing that was coming from Jeff's sleeping form, and the occasional soft '_beep' _from the diagnostic panels above the bed. Virgil felt himself sinking back into the comfortable pillows behind him, his aching body relaxing against the mattress as the drugs began to kick into action. Man, he really needed to take another nap...

"Virgil?"

His eyes snapped open again, and he blinked groggily towards the door, where Scott was standing with a relieved grin upon his face. Walking - well, hobbling - up to Virgil's bedside, the older Tracy came to stand opposite the sleeping form of his father. Peering down at Virgil, he put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it gently.

"Hey, man. It's good to see you awake."

Andy, who had been watching the younger men interact with a smile upon his face, carefully wheeled a chair over to the bedside, grasping Scott's shoulder and forcefully pushing the pilot down onto it.

"I'm just gonna go wake Tom," he murmured, careful not to wake Jeff. "I'll see you guys in the morning."

"'Night, Andy," Virgil mumbled, as Scott gave his friend a grateful smile. Once the doors had '_hissed'_ closed behind him, Scott leaned forwards with his elbows on the bed, staring at Virgil intently.

"How d'you feel?" he asked softly, mindful of his sleeping father.

Virgil smiled weakly, closing his eyes and letting out a long sigh. "I'll live."

Scott swallowed, taking Virgil's hand and squeezing it gently. "You nearly didn't," he stated hoarsely.

Virgil's eyes opened again, and he peered up at his older brother in concern. Despite the dim lighting, Virgil could still clearly see the guilt that shone in Scott's eyes. Returning the squeeze, he shook his head.

"That doesn't matter," he said quietly. "I'm alive. It's stupid to think about what might've happened."

"Is it?" Scott asked, his face serious. "Virge, we nearly lost you yesterday. I've never been so-....I was terrified, man. I couldn't help but think that maybe if I'd only paid closer attention to your injuries, I might've-"

"What? What could you possibly have done?" Virgil asked evenly. Shaking his head, he fixed Scott with a steady gaze. "Scotty, even _I_ didn't realise what was wrong with me until it was too late. I was too worried about you and Johnny and Alan and Chris - if it's anybody's fault, it's mine. But don't you dare blame yourself for this, you hear me? I'm not gonna let you. Stuff happens, man, and sometimes we can't stop it. There was nothing you could've done."

Scott sighed, lowering his head and staring at his lap. "I still let you down."

Virgil practically growled in annoyance. "Scott, _what_ is your problem?" he demanded, his voice rising in anger. "Which part of _'this isn't your fault'_ don't you get? Would you like it in writing? Look, you've gotta stop blaming yourself. We're not kids anymore, dammit, you can't protect us from everything."

"No, but that doesn't mean I shouldn't try," Scott replied sternly. Then his voice softened, and he inched closer to Virgil's side. "Virge, you're my brother. There's _nothing_ I wouldn't do for you. Nothing. And it doesn't matter if you're not a kid any more. It's my responsibility to look after you. So if you get hurt, I'm entitled to feel a little guilty, alright? That's just the way I work."

Virgil stared up at him with wide, glistening eyes. Scott leaned down to rest his forehead against Virgil's, squeezing the hand even tighter and letting out a long sigh.

"Promise me one thing."

"What?" Virgil whispered back.

"Never scare me like that again."

Virgil let out a soft chuckle, then grunted, his face screwing up as the muscles in his chest seared painfully. Scott straightened up, glancing down at his brother worriedly. Running a hand through the brown hair, he stared into the pain-filled eyes.

"You okay?" he asked softly. "D'you want me to go get Tom?"

Virgil shook his head, carefully sucking in small mouthfuls of air in an attempt to ease his breathing.

"S'just a twinge," he rasped. "I'll be fine in a sec."

Scott sat back again, watching silently as the pained expression slowly slid from Virgil's face. After a moment, he reached out and gently gave Virgil a noogie.

"You're such a jerk," he stated fondly.

"At least I can cook," Virgil mumbled back, closing his eyes wearily. Scott frowned playfully.

"Smart-ass."

"Idiot."

"Short-stuff."

"Fatty."

_"Boys."_

At the half amused, half warning tone, both Tracy sons froze, glancing over to where there father was now sitting upright in the chair at the bedside, looking very much awake. Jeff grinned, shaking his head slowly. Scott cleared his throat.

"Hey Dad," he said, with false bravado. "How long have you been awake?"

Jeff leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms over his chest. "Long enough to witness that little yelling match the two of you had earlier."

"Ah." Scott blushed shamefully, rubbing the back of his neck and feeling like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "Well, we weren't actually yelling, Dad."

"Oh yes you were," came an angry mumble from across the room. Three heads snapped round to see John sitting up in bed, rubbing at his temples and glaring at his brothers in weary annoyance. "Geez, guys, why don't you scream a little louder? I don't think Lady Penelope and the rest of London heard you back there."

Scott winced. "Sorry, Johnny."

John rolled his eyes. "Whatever," he mumbled, before dropping down onto the bed and immediately falling back asleep.

Jeff chuckled softly, standing to his feet. Looking down at his sons, he smiled. "Speaking of Lady Penelope, she's planning on staying over for a few days," he stated. "She arrives sometime tomorrow afternoon. She wanted to get here earlier, but she had to pick something up from the airport first."

Scott grinned. "Couldn't keep her away, huh?"

Jeff shook his head. "All I had to say were the words '_the boys are injured'_, and she was already making plans," he explained. "And you know Penny, once she's got her heart set on something, she won't be swayed."

Jeff sighed again, stepping closer to the bedside and peering at his two sons. Staring first at Scott, then Virgil, he smiled and reached out a hand to ruffle Scott's hair gently, shaking his head.

"I'm proud of my boys," he stated softly, watching them smile at the phrase he'd used when his sons were still children.

Leaning forward, he placed a kiss on Scott's forehead, before bending down and doing the same to Virgil. With another grin at the surprised expressions on his sons' faces, he turned around and walked over to John's bed, tucking the blankets closer around his second-eldest child and planting a gentle kiss in the soft mop of blond hair. He smiled to himself as John shifted beneath the coverlets, letting out a small sigh of content and falling into a deeper sleep.

Striding towards the door, he stood in the open doorway for a moment, glancing back at his two conscious sons and giving a slight wave.

"G'night, boys," he called softly, before heading off down the hallway and towards the main corridor.

Jeff had heard enough of Scott and Virgil's conversation to know that the two of them were going to be alright. The yelling was over - at least for now - and the two brothers had seemingly called it quits. And with that knowledge, a huge weight had been lifted from Jeff's mind. He could breathe easy now, knowing that all would be okay.

_I think I'll just go make a cup of coffee..._

* * *

It was two o'clock in the afternoon on Tracy island. Insects buzzed around exotic flowers, birds called to one another from tree to tree, a king snake curled its way around the branch of an _apaya _bush, and everything about the world seemed to be just right.

Except, trapped within the confines of his infirmary bed, John Tracy was bored. Officially, absolutely, totally, excruciatingly, mind-numbingly bored.

Sending the doctor in front of him a pleading look, he decided that perhaps he wasn't too proud to beg after all.

"C'mon, Andy, please? I'm fine, honest. Just a little dizzy. Can't I just go for a ten minute walk? I won't even go as far as the beach, I'll just stroll around the poolside for a while."

Andy dropped the data-pad back down onto the trolley beside him, smirking slightly as he crossed his arms over his chest.

"No."

"But-"

"No," Andy repeated, this time a little more firmly. "You're staying in bed, understood?"

"But-" John said again, sitting up a little straighter in protest.

"John," Virgil called from where he sat on his own bed with his eyes closed on the other side of the room. "Stop it."

"But I-"

"Don't make me come over there," Virgil warned wearily.

Thomas, who had been jotting down notes at Virgil's bedside, gazed at him sternly. "Don't you dare, bucko. Stay put or I'll get Alan to duct tape you to the bed."

Virgil opened his eyes, smiling up at the doctor cunningly. "As if that'll stop me."

Thomas grinned, shaking his head as he took up the smaller bag of antibiotic fluid and hung it on the IV pole. Connecting the thin tube to the valve at the bottom, he waited until he could see the droplets of liquid begin to trickle down the transparent line before stepping back, nodding in approval. Glancing over to where Gordon stood beside the window, he raised an eyebrow at the redhead's smirking face.

"Gordo?" he called. When the teenager turned to look at him, he couldn't help but laugh as the full smirk came into view. Gordon looked all of twelve years old when he was wearing that particular expression upon his face.

"What?" Gordon asked, trying and failing to compose himself.

Perching on the edge of Virgil's mattress, Thomas pointed in the vague direction of his mouth. "Why the grin?"

Gordon's eyes twinkled, and he tapped his nose secretively. "You'll see," he replied evasively. "Just as soon as FAB 1 arrives. They're beginning their descent as we speak."

Alan looked up from where he had been sitting with Scott at John's bedside, and shared a grin with his prank-loving brother. Thomas looked between them suspiciously, a slight frown on his face, before waving his hand in dismissal.

"Teenagers," he muttered. "They're all weird."

"Hey!"

Thomas glanced over to where Tin-Tin had been re-stocking one of the cupboards on the far side of the room. Grinning apologetically, he held up a hand. "I was referring to teenage boys, honey," he soothed. "They're an entirely different species to teenage girls."

Tin-Tin smiled. "Good," she said lightly, before turning back around again and continuing with her task.

Thomas looked at the Tracy sons - who had been watching him with a mixture of concern (for his safety) and amusement - and wiped a hand across his brow as though to say _'Phew! That was close!'_. The rest of the room's occupents grinned back at him - for the exception of Tin-Tin, of course, who thankfully hadn't noticed his gesture. Thomas picked up the data-pad at Virgil's bedside, humming to himself as he stepped across the room and went to sit on the end of what had previously been Scott's bed. He had allowed Scott to sleep in his own bedroom after the first night, since there hadn't been any medical reason to keep him in. Plus Scott's constant attempts to escape had been wearing him out. Now if only John would settle down and take it like a man...

"Say, where's Fermat?" Andy asked suddenly. Thomas glanced up from the pad and gave the room a once-over, noting that the young Hackenbacker was indeed absent. He shot a quick look at Alan, who had been spinning around absently on the wheeley chair he was sitting on in an attempt to annoy Scott.

"Dad asked him to give Brains an update on how the guys are doing," the teenager stated, leaning back and smiling innocently at his eldest brother as Scott glared at him. "Plus he wanted to know how the repairs were coming along. Apparently Brains found an unexpected corrosion on some of the minor backup circuitry."

"What?" John asked worriedly, sitting up a little straighter. "What's wrong with her?"

Andy rolled his eyes. "Geez, you'd think she was your wife."

Thomas laughed. "Careful, junior, you're treading on dangerous ground here. Never get between a man and his machine. They're very protective. Gordon still hasn't forgiven me for calling his sub a 'mutated banana'."

Laughter broke out amongst the assembled family at Gordon's frown of disapproval, and the atmosphere lightened to such an extent that even Gordon himself was forced to join in after a few moments. Thomas grinned, wiping his watering eyes and glancing back down at his data-pad. It had been far too long since he'd heard the boys laugh together like this. It hadn't even been two days, but it felt a good deal longer due to the mood of anxiety and fear and that consumed the atmosphere for so many hours. But now that Scott was up and about again, and John was heading that way himself, the Tracy boys had allowed themselves to relax back into their familiar style of interaction.

"Virge?"

Thomas glanced up again at Scott's worried call, his eyes darting over to where Virgil sat upon the bed on the other side of the room, clutching at his ribcage with his good arm and grimacing painfully. Dropping the data-pad onto the mattress, Thomas stood up and hurried over to the younger man's side, wincing sympathetically.

"Sorry, Virge," he murmured. "Guess your ribs didn't find it funny, huh?"

Virgil, who had gone slightly pink, shook his head and gave a weak smile. Scott, Alan and Gordon appeared at the bedside a second later, looks of concern upon there faces as Virgil breathed slowly to ease the pain in his side. John's head appeared over Gordon's shoulder, pale but worried as he casually put a hand on his brother's shoulder for support. Andy came up behind him and took a gentle grip of his uninjured arm, just in case his dizziness got the better of him, but did not make any comment about the astronaut being out of bed without permission.

"Guys, I'm fine," Virgil protested, peering up at his siblings as the pain began to abate. "It's just a twinge."

"That's what you said at the danger zone," Alan countered. "And look what happened to you then."

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence and everyone shifted, looking at the floor, their feet, the ceiling, the walls - anywhere but each other. Then the tense moment was broken.

"Round one to the munchkin," Andy deadpanned.

Alan elbowed him gently in the ribs, pretending to look offended as the rest of the family - minus Virgil - laughed at his expense, eager to relieve the tension. Tin-Tin, who had also made her way over to the bedside, her task completely forgotten, handed Virgil a pink and fluffy object.

"It's a hot-water bottle," she elaborated, as seven males turned to look at her incredulously. "The same one I gave to Alan at Spring Break. It worked wonders for him, so I thought you might like to use it."

Alan nodded in agreement. "It's actually just as good as pain meds, Virge," he stated. "Plus it doesn't knock you out."

Virgil smiled at Tin'Tin gratefully, putting the hot-water bottle to his bruised side and leaning back against the cushions with a sigh. After a few moments, he smiled slightly, opening his eyes and glancing over at his family.

"Alright, I'm okay now," he stated, waving his good arm in a shooing gesture. "Stop crowding me already. And darn it, Johnny, get back into bed."

Smiling in amusement, Thomas herded the Tracy clan away from Virgil's bedside, knowing that the young man didn't like to be 'smothered'. Especially since the middle Tracy son was a medic himself. Having been in the same position as Virgil on numerous occasions, Thomas knew just how frustrating it was to be the patient instead of the one in charge. It made you feel weak and helpless; two feelings that weren't normally associated with being a doctor.

As Scott and Andy forced John back into bed - much to the younger man's annoyance - Thomas glanced down at Virgil and smiled gently.

"Feeling better?" he asked.

Virgil rolled his eyes. "Just peachy," he said sarcastically. "Can I leave now?"

Thomas chuckled fondly, ruffling the young medic's hair and shaking his head. "No, buddy," he replied. "Not for a little while."

The pilot sighed in resignation and settled back against the bed, unfailingly stubborn even though his exhaustion was obvious to all. Knowing that the injured Tracy would probably fall asleep within the next few minutes, Thomas returned to the third bed in the room, picking up his data-pad and sitting down on the mattress, scrolling through the long list of notes and changing a few of the details here and there. He usually hated - no, _loathed_ - making reports, but for some reason he didn't mind doing it so much right now. Perhaps it was because he felt so at home on Tracy island, surrounded by the people he had known for most of his life, doing what he loved to do most; heal people.

As the minutes passed, Thomas actually began to enjoy himself. Writing reports on the Tracy boys wasn't so bad. Since they were unofficial records that would not be submitted into any national medical database, he had the freedom to add random and bizarre comments wherever he liked. And he was doing so. Frequently, in fact. He had a feeling that Virgil would get a laugh out of reading the reports later on. Thomas would just have to make sure that he didn't let the young doctor see them until his ribs had fully healed.

Suddenly, the '_hiss' _of a door opening made Thomas look up from his data-pad. His eyes widened and his mouth dropped open as a brown-haired woman glided into the room, her eyes full of motherly concern as she hurried over to Virgil's bedside, completely by-passing Thomas.

"Virgil, honey-bun, are you alright?" she asked in her soft English accent, her eyes scanning over the diagnostic panels as she cupped his cheek affectionately. "Your blood pressure's a little off. Are you still on morphine?"

Virgil also seemed to be in a state of weary shock as he blinked up at the woman in surprise. "Jenny?"

Jennifer Palmar smiled down at him. "The one and only. Now you stay right there, sweetie. I'm just going to check on your brothers."

Straightening up, she hurried from one bed to the other, again by-passing her gobsmacked husband as she went over to John's bed, reaching out to gently run her finger over the small row of stitches on his forehead.

"John, dear, did you really have to pick a fight with the ceiling?" she teased lightly. "I know men aren't the wisest of creatures, but really, I expected more from a Tracy. Especially you; I would've thought a man who could play chess as well as you do would have a higher IQ than that. Speaking of which, you and I are having a rematch as soon as you're fully recovered, understood?"

Thomas opened and closed his mouth several times, before finally finding his voice. "Jenny, how-" he began, only to be cut off as she held up a hand.

"One moment, cupcake."

She dropped her hand away from John's brow, turning to Scott -who sat in a chair at the bedside - and giving him a one-armed hug. "How's your leg, dear?"

Scott grinned at the hurt pout on Thomas' face, before looking up at the motherly nurse and smiling.

"It's fine Jenny," he replied. "A little sore, that's all. I'll live."

Jennifer smiled. "That's good to know."

Turning then to Gordon she poked him in the chest. "Good, you're still there. I wasn't entirely sure, since you've been silent for what? Two minutes? And that must be your personal all-time record. I think this calls for a celebratory hug, don't you?"

Gordon laughed as Thomas crossed his arms over his chest and pulled a grumpy-looking face. The redhead allowed himself to be pulled into an embrace by Jennifer - who was at least a head shorter than him - before stepping back and allowing her to bustle over to where Alan stood on the other side of the bed.

"Hey, sweetie," she cooed, hugging the youngest Tracy warmly. "Good to see you looking so healthy. Now baby, I know your brush with death earlier this summer was exciting and all, but please refrain from scaring me like that again, alright? I've so far managed to avoid grey hairs, but your condition came very close to giving me some, I'm telling you. Are you off the antibiotics yet?"

Alan shook his head, sighing heavily. "Nope. I've still got another week to go," he stated. "Andy's been the one jabbing me recently, since Virge has been kinda tied down - sometimes in both senses of the word."

Jennifer laughed softly, her blue-green eyes sparkling as she released Alan and turned to look at Andy.

"Hi, junior," she greeted, adopting he nickname that was so often used by her husband. "Been keeping Tommy in line for me?"

Andy grinned, nodding his head and allowing Jennifer to give him a one-armed hug. "Yes, ma'am."

"Good," she sighed, stepping back and regarding the group of men fondly for a moment. Then she frowned, turning around and looking thoughtful. "Now, who have I forgotten to say hello to?" she asked aloud, tapping her chin thoughtfully.

Thomas grinned, straightening up and uncrossing his arms. His wife's face broke into a smile, and she turned towards his end of the room.

"Ah yes, of course!" she exclaimed. "Hello, Tin-Tin, darling!"

The Tracy's began to snicker softly as Jennifer glided right past Thomas once more, going close enough to brush against the sleeve of his lab coat as she hurried over the cabinet on the far side of the room where Tin-Tin had resumed her task. Kissing the young teenager on the cheek, she clasped the girl's hands gently in hers and whispered something in her ear. Tin-Tin giggled, blushing shyly and glancing over at Alan, before shaking her head and whispering a reply into Jennifer's ear. Alan frowned slightly, wondering what on earth the two females could be talking about. He honestly didn't understand women sometimes.

Thomas had found his pout again, and was leaning against the side of Scott's bed, looking as though he were sulking and knowing full well that his wife was just trying to tease him. He had to try very hard not to smile as she walked back into the centre of the room and sighed in satisfaction.

"Well," she said softly. "I think that's everything. I'll just be off, then."

As she began to head towards the door, Thomas lunged for her and grabbed her round the waist, twirling her around in his arms and dipping her as he captured her lips in a gentle kiss. Bringing her upright once more, he grinned at her slightly dazed expression.

"Hi, honey," he murmured.

"Hey," she replied breathlessly, her hands pressed against his chest as she gazed up at him. "Miss me?"

Thomas smiled, pressing their foreheads together. "Absolutely."

"Get a room, you two."

Thomas glanced over at Jeff as the Tracy patriarch stepped through the doorway with Lady Penelope, a wry smile upon his face.

"Oh, I plan to," Thomas stated. Jennifer slapped his chest chest gently to make him shut up, and turned to greet Jeff - but was once again dipped by Thomas as he sought another kiss. Waving a hand towards the door, she attempted to turn her head sideways momentarily.

"Hi Jeff!" she tried to say - although of course it came out as an unintelligible mumble, as Thomas' lips were still pressed firmly against hers.

Jeff rolled his eyes and turned towards his sons. Glad to see his boys so cheerful, he stepped aside so that Lady Penelope could hurry into the room.

"Hello, boys," she greeted, smiling warmly. "Lady Penelope Creighton Ward, at your service."

Thomas, who had allowed his wife a momentary respite, glanced up at the blond female and raised an eyebrow. "Do you always have to say that?" he asked incredulously.

Penelope chuckled, already absorbed in greeting the boys individually. "No, of course not," she replied. "I only do it to annoy or impress. In this case, my intent was to antagonise you. Was I successful?"

Thomas grinned and rolled his eyes. "You always succeed, Penny," he stated, wrapping his arms around his wife's stomach as she turned to lean her back against his chest. "That's why I never pick fights _or _play monopoly with you any more. And besides, you cheat."

Penelope smiled, running her fingers through Alan's hair fondly. "I most certainly do not," she protested calmly. "You're just a sore loser."

Thomas pouted, resting his chin atop his wife's head. "Jen, she's picking on me," he complained, his tone taking on a hint of a whine.

Jennifer laughed. "Suck it up, love," she replied. "Take it like a man,"

Penelope released Tin-Tin from her gentle embrace and straightened up, smoothing down her silken pink top and smiling over at the couple on the other side of the room. Brushing a stray lock of blond hair behind her ear, she clasped her hands in front of her and leaned against the end of the bed-frame.

"He is taking it like a man, Jenny," she smiled. "All men are melodramatic."

Virgil, who had been trying to contemplate the sudden arrival of Thomas' wife, suddenly snapped his fingers as the pieces of the puzzle slotted together in his mind. As the occupants of the room turned to look at him, he glanced over at his father.

"You said Penny needed to pick something up from the airport," he began, smiling in amusement. "That 'something' was Jenny, right?"

Penelope nodded and smiled. "Correct. Since Jennifer was quite adamant to visit the island, I offered to bring her here myself."

Thomas glanced down at his wife. "But I thought you had to stay in Peru until next Thursday?" he inquired.

"I was supposed to," she replied, smiling over at Penelope. "But since I've been working overtime lately, the big white chief allowed my to leave a week early. Don't tell me you're regretting my decision?"

Thomas chuckled and shook his head. "Not one bit," he stated.

"Good," Jennifer smiled, pushing herself away from her husband and striding towards the door. "In that case, I'll go put the kettle on. Tea, Penny?"

Lady Penelope nodded. "If you're making it, then a cup of tea would be just wonderful," she smiled. "These American men are lovely, but they wouldn't know a good cup of tea if it was put in front of them."

"Hey!" Thomas protested. "I make good tea!"

Penelope, who had taken a seat at Virgil's bedside, rolled her eyes. "That, Dr. Palmar, is because you've been trained by a professional, darling," she informed him. "I doubt Jenny would have married you if you had proved to be an unsuitable tea-maker."

Thomas pouted. "_Don't_ called me Dr. Palmar," he mumbled moodily.

Ignoring the amused snorts that sounded in the room, Penny glanced down the pink and fluffy object that was pressed against Virgil's ribcage, smiling slightly and nodding in satisfaction.

"At least one Tracy has good taste," she stated.

Jeff didn't know which was better; the sound of laughter coming from four of his sons, or the look of complete and utter mortification on Virgil's face. Whichever it was, he was sure of one thing;

Virgil hated pink hot-water bottles.

* * *

Gordon smiled down at his sleeping older brother, glad that John had finally given up the act and allowed his weary body to pull him into the land of dreams. The second-eldest Tracy had been adamant that he was fine, and that he should be allowed to sleep in his own bed. But Andy had held firm, and had even gone as far as to threaten to use the dreaded restraints if John didn't settle down. The fact that John had tried to get out of bed, and had nearly fallen on his behind, had only fueled Andy's determination to keep John in sickbay for another evening.

Straightening up, Gordon glanced over to where Scott, Fermat, Tin-Tin and Virgil were talking together quietly on the other side of the room. Returning his gaze to John's bed, Gordon's smile widened when he realised that the astronaut wasn't the only blond-haired Tracy who had fallen asleep. Alan's head was pillowed in his arms, his breathing soft and steady as he dozed against the mattress. Shaking his head and glancing down at his watch, Gordon stood to his feet. It was only ten-thirty, but clearly Alan had had enough for the day.

"Hey Scott!" he called in a whisper, pointing down at Alan as his brother turned to look at him. "I think I'm gonna need your help in getting him into bed. He never listens to me."

Scott stood up, coming to stand beside Gordon and regarding his baby brother with a fond smile. "I guess he's still tired from what happened the other day," he stated. "I know I am. And my leg still looks as ugly as hell."

"Well," Gordon sighed, patting Scott on the shoulder as he gazed at him sympathetically. "At least it matches your face."

Scott jabbed Gordon in the ribs in retaliation, causing the younger Tracy to squeak in protest. Stepping away from his older brother, Gordon put a finger to his lips and pointed the other hand at John's sleeping form.

"Dude," he complained. "I've only just managed to get him to go to sleep! You don't wanna wake him up argue with him again, do you?"

An amused snort sounded from the doorway. Jeff stepped into the room and up to John's beside, shaking his head and smiling.

"That's exactly what your mother used to say to me when John was a baby," he stated. Then he frowned and cocked his head to the side. "Well - she didn't refer to me as 'dude', but the rest of the sentence was identical."

Scott and Gordon grinned at their father's comment, and Jeff winked at them. Then stepping up behind Alan, he bent down and gently ruffled his son's hair. Alan stirred and grunted, raising his head from his arms and blinking up at his father. Jeff smiled and put a finger to his lips, indicating John's sleeping form.

"Bedtime, kiddo," he whispered softly. Alan nodded, too tired to argue, and stood to his feet. As Jeff made to guide him out of the room, Scott stepped forward and put an arm around Alan's shoulders, smiling at his father.

"I got him," he said softly, steering Alan towards the infirmary doors. "C'mon, Sprout. Let's make sure you don't fall down the stairs, hmm?"

As the doors closed behind his sons, Jeff turned to Gordon and slung an arm about his shoulders.

"Son?" he asked softly.

Gordon glanced up at him. "Mmm?"

"D'you think Tom would kill me if I had another coffee?" he inquired thoughtfully. Before Gordon could reply, Virgil glanced up from where he had been talking to Fermat and Tin-Tin, a firm frown in place.

"Never mind about Tom, Dad," he said seriously. "_I'll_ kill you if you have another coffee."

Gordon grinned as his father did a very good impression of an 'Alan-pout'. 'Patting' his dad on the back sympathetically, he grinned over at Virgil and winked. Stepping away from his father, he allowed his older brother full view of his father's back. Virgil's mouth dropped open in shock as the word '_ANTIQUE'_ came into full view, written in bold block-capitals upon a white sheet of paper that Gordon had subtly taped to his father's back only seconds before. Fermat also noticed this, and began to chuckle, turning it into an almighty coughing fit in an attempt to hide his amusement.

Jeff turned to look at the young teenager, frowning worriedly.

"Are you alright, Fermat?" he asked. Fermat nodded, going red in the face, and Tin-Tin began to giggle uncontrollably. Virgil had a rather pained expression upon his own face as he fought to contain the laughter, the strain of doing so hurting his ribs. Jeff noticed this, and the worried frown increased.

"Virgil, what's wrong?" he demanded. Virgil shook his head, his eyes watering slightly.

"Nothing, Dad," he choked out. Jeff paused momentarily, before striding towards the door.

"I'm gonna find Andy," he stated, the worried frown still in place. The moment the doors had '_hissed' _closed behind him, Gordon collapsed onto the floor in peals of silent laughter, clutching at his sides as tears streamed down his face.

Virgil managed to take in a deep breath, easing the pain in his ribcage as he looked over at Gordon. "Dad's gonna find out, you know," he stated. "And he's not gonna be a happy bunny."

Gordon stood up and waved a hand dismissively. "Nah, he wont notice a thing until-"

"GORDON!"

The redhead froze, wincing. "Until Andy spots it," he finished softly. "Oh darn."

Virgil smiled, leaning his head back against the soft pillows behind him and letting out a gentle sigh. Gordon was up to his usual tricks again, so he was obviously just fine. And as long as Gordon was fine, the rest of the family usually followed suit. Despite how annoying the teenager could be at times, he was the one who kept up the Tracy moral, the one who they depended on after every rescue mission to keep them thinking positive. They needed Gordon more than he prank-loving Tracy could ever know.

_So as long as Dad doesn't turn him into sushi, everything is gonna be just fine._

* * *

**_PLEASE REVIEW and tell me what you thought! You know I love to hear from you. The next chapter will be up at some point next week, although I can't say when. Life's so hectic at the mo, and I have exams on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday. _**

**_xoxoxox  
_**


	26. Chapter 26: Moonlight Sonata

**_Hey, lovelies!_**

**_ This marks the end of 'When The Music Fades', so I hope you enjoy the chapter. Thanks for all the great reviews, and for your patience, I've really appreciated the encouraging feedback. For all those who asked, my gran has had her ups and downs this week, but I think she's doing okay at the moment. And my exams have all been good too, so things are looking up. I only have Biology left now, and I find that easy enough._**

**_Again, big hugs go to 'criminally charmed', 'sammygirl1963' and all my other buddies; your support has been wonderful, and I couldn't have gotten through my exams and everything else without you. And a special thanks to 'Lissysue85' and 'sam1' for the awesome Thunderbirds story they posted - it really helped to cheer me up! And for everybody who hasn't read it, I recommend that you do. It's 'awesomeness' personified - like Thomas Palmar. Tee hee._**

**_So this is for you guys. I hope you enjoy the final chapter....._**

* * *

Alan gritted his teeth, tugging at the zipper of his duffel bag with all his might. He could feel the skin of his thumb and index finger begin to sting and burn in protest, but he refused to give in. He wasn't about to let a zipper get the better of him.

With a final yank, the victorious metallic '_whrrrp_' resounded in the otherwise quiet bedroom, and Alan slumped back onto the floor, panting for breath. Wiping a hand across his sweaty brow, he leaned his head back against the edge of his mattress, closing his eyes and sighing deeply. He had finally finished packing. All he had to do now was load the bags into Tracy One, and he would be off for another term at Wharton's.

On one level, Alan was actually looking forward to going back to school. Having proven his true academic skills at the end of the previous semester, his teachers had persuaded him to take several advanced courses on top of the normal curriculum work. They had been both surprised and impressed at his final grades.

Before Spring Break, Alan had never really bothered to push himself into doing anything that involved school. The work had either seemed too boring or too easy, and he had never studied for tests or tried particularly hard to get his homework finished on time. He had once seen himself as being the 'rebel' of the family; the only Tracy who hadn't tried to slot into the expected category of 'spectacular'. Alan had found a sense of pride in the fact that he'd been brave enough to be different, brave enough to stand out against the rest of the Tracy clan – but looking back on how he'd once behaved, Alan could only see how immature and utterly selfish his actions had been. He'd been a foolish kid who, having been 'unfairly' denied the chance to follow his far-flung dreams of piloting rockets at the age of twelve, had decided to sulk for the next two and half years.

However, once he had actually tried to do well at school – mainly in an attempt to prove to his father that there was more to him than the ability to fly Thunderbird machines – he had discovered that education wasn't all that bad. In fact, he'd found an interest in several of his subjects; namely physics, math and English – all three being subjects that he had once loathed. But the results of his finals had been both unexpected and satisfactory. True, he had been forced to work his socks off and complete dozens of extra assignments to pull his grades up to the top, but it had been well worth the effort. He'd certainly shocked his family.

So, for academic reasons, Alan was quietly anticipating the challenges that the upcoming school term would bring. Also, he had signed up to join Wharton's motocross team. He was definitely looking forward to trying his hand at that. He had a feeling he was going to be rather good, considering he could always handle hover-sleds without any problems. However, there was a part of him that wished he could stay at home instead of going back to school; a part of him that desperately wanted to stay with his family, instead of being thousands of miles away from all of them.

It had been less than three weeks since the disastrous rescue mission, and things had pretty much returned to normal on Tracy island. John had gone up to Thunderbird 5 to relieve Brains, and both he and Scott had been deemed medically fit to resume their duty as members of International Rescue. Virgil, on the other hand, was still recovering from his own injuries. His arm had healed superbly, and he'd at last been allowed the freedom to play the piano as often as he wished. But his ribs still pained him on occasion, and Thomas had declared that he would have to remain out of action for at least another fortnight.

__

Beep - Beep - Beep....

Alan jumped, startled, as a quiet alarm sounded, shattering the peaceful silence of the bedroom. Sitting up straighter, Alan's head snapped round towards his desk, where a light on the underside of his computer screen was flashing yellow.

Pushing himself swiftly to his feet, the blond-haired teenager darted towards his desk, reaching out to flick on the monitor as he sat down in the chair. As an image popped up onto the screen, Alan grinned.

"Hey, John!" he greeted cheerfully.

The astronaut smiled, pulling off his gloves and dropping them down onto the console in front of him.

"Hey, Sprout. How goes the packing?"

Alan glanced over his shoulder and gave the pile of luggage a satisfied smirk. "Done," he announced.

"Did you remember to pack your teddy-bear, kiddo?" John asked innocently, grinning as he leaned back in his chair lazily, his blue eyes dancing in amusement.

Alan rolled his eyes as he turned to face the screen once more, pretending to look affronted. "Don't tempt me into doing something nasty to you," he warned playfully.

"Oh yeah?" John smiled. "Like what?"

Alan gave a nonchalant shrug, rotating from left to right on his wheeley chair as he gazed up at the ceiling absently.

"Oh, I dunno," he said softly. "Maybe I'll 'accidentally' let slip our little secret about who ate Scott's peanut butter cup?"

John frowned. "That was seven years ago!" he protested.

Alan smirked, nodding his head. "But it was his _last_ peanut butter cup, John. Judging from the interrogation he subjected us all to afterwards, you'd have thought it was the crown jewels or something."

John chuckled, shaking his head. "He sure did kick up a fuss about it, huh?"

Alan grinned and nodded again. "That's Scott for you. So melodramatic."

A short-but-comfortable silence fell between them, and Alan let out a long sigh, pushing at a few sheets of scrap paper on his desk and debating over whether or not he should bother to go through them before he left for school. Before he could make up his mind, however, John spoke again.

"So, when are you heading off?" he inquired, leaning one elbow on the edge of the console and propping his head up against his hand.

Alan glanced down at his watch. "Not for another couple of hours," he replied. "Dad wants to get us there before dinner, but if he's too early he'll end up being dragged into another of their 'afternoon tours' of the school. And since you guys all went there before I did, I think he's had enough tours to last a lifetime."

John smiled, letting out a small sigh. "True," he agreed. "But you'd better warn him not to stick around too long after dinner. There's a nasty-looking gale heading towards New England, and unless he wants to be stuck at the airport for twenty-four hours he'll need to get his skates on and leave the school pretty pronto. Once he's back over the Pacific, he should be fine."

Alan nodded, storing the information away in his brain for later. John smiled at him again, leaning forward in his chair and gazing at Alan steadily. Alan raised an eyebrow.

"What?" he asked, a smile tugging at his lips.

John shook his head. "Nothing," he replied softly. "I'm just gonna miss you, that's all."

Alan blushed slightly, dropping his gaze and scuffing the toe of his sneaker along the floorboards. "It's not like I haven't been away before," he mumbled uncomfortably.

"And it's not like I haven't missed you before," John replied evenly, smirking at his brother's embarrassment. "But I'm gonna miss you as a part of the team, too. You and Gords certainly make the journey home more interesting. Now I'll just have to listen to Scott complaining about how slow Thunderbird 2 is, or how unfair it is that he's not allowed to push One to her full capacity unless it's an emergency. Seriously, he does my head in sometimes."

Alan grinned, all embarrassment forgotten as he spun a pencil between his fingers casually. "At least Virge is there, huh? He always makes Scott shut up after a while."

"True," John said again. "How's Virge doing, anyway? I haven't spoken to him for a couple of days now. How's he enjoying his freedom?"

Alan glanced towards the door, holding his breath for a moment as he listened. As expected, he could hear the faint melodious tunes drifting up from the living room on the other side of the villa. Turning back towards the screen, he smirked.

"He's still on the piano," he remarked. "You should've seen him, John, it was hilarious. He practically squealed when Tom told him he could take his arm out of the support sling and 'go play'. He had such a goofy grin on his face."

John raised an eyebrow. "Our Virgil?"

Alan grinned. "Yup."

"Squealed?" John stated incredulously. Alan let out an amused snort, setting the pencil back in the pen-tidy on his desk.

"You can watch it for yourself, if you like," he informed the older Tracy. "Gordon taped it."

Both of John's eyebrows shot up to immeasurable heights. "Seriously?"

Alan laughed. "Yeah. He and Andy wanted to savour his reaction. And trust me, it was well worth it. Gordo even found a way to play back in slow-motion. I must've watched it like fifty times, but it still cracks me up."

John grinned, his eyes dancing merrily. "I've gotta get Gords to send me the vid."

Another short silence fell between them, and John glanced down at his watch. "Gotta go, Sprout," he stated. "Need to go check on my baby. She's been through a rough time, you know."

Alan grinned. "Sure thing, space-face," he cooed. "Go knock yourself out."

John glanced up and gazed at Alan in mild amusement. "Didn't I just do that a few weeks ago? And nobody appreciated my efforts."

Alan rolled his eyes. "Hilarious, Johnny. You're a multi-talented guy, you know? Geeky _and_ funny."

"Hey!" John protested. "Just 'cause I'm too far away to get you doesn't mean I can't bribe Scott into doing it for me."

Alan smirked. "Love ya really, Johnny. Besides, my best friend's a geek. Geeks are the best kinda freaks around."

"Gee thanks, Sprout, now I feel so much better about myself," John replied sarcastically, but the grin on his face belied his grumpy tone of voice. Letting out a small sigh, he fixed Alan with another stare. "Take care of yourself you hear?"

Alan smiled. "Yes, Johnny."

"And try to stay outta trouble for at least a little while, 'kay?" the older Tracy continued.

Alan sighed and rolled his eyes. "Yes, Johnny."

"And remember that you can call anytime you like, alright?" John added. "I'm only a few thousand miles away."

Alan grinned and nodded. "Will do."

"Good," John sighed, satisfied. "Now shoo; I have more important matters to deal with. I have a date with a circuitry panel that I can't miss. You're an awesome brother, Al, and usually you'd take preference, but my baby holds grudges."

Alan laughed, shaking his head. "I'll call you Friday, okay?" he stated.

John nodded. "It's a date."

Alan shook his head, pretending to look shocked. "You're cheating on her?" he demanded. "That's despicable, John."

And with that, Alan flicked the switch on the underside of his computer and terminated the call. Leaning back in his chair, he smiled to himself and gazed up at the ceiling, the silence of his bedroom echoing around him. The occasional hum of Virgil's music floated around him, and Alan felt a sudden urge to go and speak with his older brother. There was something he had to get off his chest, something that had been bugging him for over two weeks. And he needed to let it out before it drove him bonkers. His mind made up, Alan pushed himself to his feet and strode across the room, hopping over the pile of luggage as he headed towards the door.

He and Virgil needed to talk.

* * *

Virgil smiled as his fingers flew across the rectangular keys, filling the air with their gentle music. Through the open bay doors that lead onto the balcony, a warm breeze wafted towards him, blowing gently against his skin. He closed his eyes, sighing happily. This was the life.

Time didn't seem to exist as he sat upon the padded seat, his hands gliding fluidly out in front of him, barely seeming to touch the piano at all. Man, he loved music. It gave him a chance to feel, a chance to reflect, a chance to think. And, unbeknown to his brothers, he was actually at his most alert when he sat before his beloved baby grand. Every movement caught his eye, every sound – even the gentle whisper of the wind – seemed to intensify. He was aware of everything around him, even though the music had almost taken him to a different level of consciousness.

And that was why he knew that one of his brothers was standing in the doorway on the other side of the room. He couldn't see the figure, as he was facing the other way, but judging by the faint noises he could hear – the distinct rubbery sound of sneakered feet shuffling nervously against the floorboards - it was his youngest sibling. Grinning to himself, he continued to play smoothly, pretending he had hadn't noticed the teenager's arrival, allowing the music to fill the room. After a few moments, and without looking up from his piano, he decided to put his baby brother at ease.

"I don't bite, you know," Virgil stated softly, loud enough to be heard over the music.

There was a sharper rubbery '_squeak'_ as Alan clearly jumped out of his skin, and Virgil's grin widened. Chuckling softly, he glanced over his shoulder. Alan glared at him, that familiar hurt pout forming around his mouth.

"What's up, Sprout?" he inquired cheerfully.

Alan sighed, pushing himself away from the door-frame and coming to stand beside a few feet away from the piano bench, rubbing at the back of his neck absently. Virgil, who had returned his gaze to the keys in front of him, shuffled over to the left, dropping the sweet melody down by half an octave and leaving a sizable space for Alan on the right-hand side of the padded seat.

"You wanna talk about it?" he asked knowingly. He could already sense that Alan had something on his mind. And although the youngest Tracy wasn't always the most open about his emotions, he found that, given time and patience, Alan would often spill out the whole story. The teenager had never been able to keep anything from Virgil for any extended period of time.

Alan hesitated for only a fraction of a second, before moving forwards and sitting down upon the bench beside his older brother. He immediately felt more at ease, and for a few minutes was simply content to listen to the gentle music that emanated from deep within the belly of the black piano.

"You head off at two-thirty, right?" Virgil said suddenly, his voice as soft and fluid as the music.

Alan nodded his head, before he realised that perhaps Virgil hadn't been paying enough attention to notice his movement, and instead cleared his throat and smiled.

"Yeah, Dad wants to get me and Fermat there in time for dinner," he explained. Virgil turned to look at him, his honey-burnt eyes bright and warm.

"You ready to go back?" he inquired, glancing back down at his hands momentarily as he transacted a particularly complicated cross-over of notes. Alan could've sworn that he saw his brother using at least fifteen fingers at the same time.

Sighing, the teenager ran his index finger along the smooth, shiny underside of the piano, tracing the thin golden pattern that laced and looped fluidly, almost encompassing the music itself.

"Not really," he admitted softly.

Virgil's fingers faltered, although only for a moment, and then he was playing again, although this time much softer and slower than before.

"Really?" he asked. "I thought you were looking forward to the new semester?"

"I am," Alan murmured, staring unseeingly at his lap as he fumbled for the right words. "It's just – I can't -"

Virgil's fingers hardly seemed to move at all, the soft chords echoing for several seconds at a time as he focused on his fingers, giving Alan the chance he needed to find a way of expressing himself.

The youngest Tracy let out a frustrated puff of air, running his fingers through his blond hair before allowing his hand to drop back down into his lap. Inhaling deeply, he looked up at Virgil.

"Virge, what if something like this happens to you again?" he asked quietly.

Virgil's hands slowly slid from the white keys, and he turned to look at Alan, concern and curiosity shining in his eyes. "Something like what?"

Alan gnawed at his bottom lip, playing with the hem of his shorts. Virgil put a hand on his shoulder and gave him an ever-so-gentle shake, causing him to look up.

"Hey," he said softly. "What's the matter, kiddo? C'mon, you can tell me."

Alan's barriers melted under the steady gaze of those deep and penetrating eyes. Staring intently back at his older brother, he turned sideways a little more so that he faced him.

"Virge, what if something goes wrong on another away mission, and I'm stuck at school?" he asked, his voice gaining strength as finally admitted to the fear that had been stabbing at his mind ever since the eventful incident a few weeks ago. "You've no idea how helpless I feel when you guys go out on a rescue. And I've always known that something could happen, but – well-"

"But it's never actually happened before?" Virgil finished for him, his voice soft and understanding. He put an arm about Alan's shoulders, squeezing him gently. "Al, think about how many missions we've completed. Considering that this is the first time that one of us has sustained a life-threatening injury, I think we've done pretty well for ourselves. This isn't gonna happen every time, Sprout. It'll be okay, you'll see. You'll go back to school and, after a while, you won't even think about us anymore. Trust me, kiddo, once you've settled back down at Wharton's, you'll realise that you've been worrying over nothing."

Alan smiled up at him, feeling a good deal more at ease as he realised the truth behind his brother's words. His blue eyes sparkled mischievously as he shook his head.

"D'you seriously think I'm gonna be able forget you guys?" he asked lightly. "One, I'm gonna be back for a weekend in October, so I won't be gone for all that long; two, I'm still gonna think about you whenever the Thunderbirds is mentioned on the TV, or by somebody at school; and three, you and the others are gonna be calling me almost every evening to make sure that I haven't died yet. So all in all, I very much doubt that I'll be _allowed_ to forget."

Laughing, Virgil nodded his head slightly. "You have a point there."

Alan smiled. "That's 'cause I'm totally awesome."

Virgil grinned, ruffling Alan's hair and gently pushing him away. "C'mon," he said, standing to his feet. "Let's go see how Tom's getting along with your health reports."

Alan stood up, raising an eyebrow as he followed his brother out of the room. "You made Tom write the reports?" he asked incredulously. "Virge, you're a cruel man."

Virgil just grinned smugly. "C'mon, I had to get even somehow. He and Andy have barely given me room to breathe over the past couple of weeks. Luckily, Scott and Andy went to go check on Tracy One straight after lunch, so I was allowed a break from the doc's watchful eye. Seriously, I think Scott's rubbing off on that guy. He's way too overprotective."

Alan laughed, shaking his head. "Look in the mirror, bro," he murmured. "Look in the mirror."

* * *

Jeff sighed, setting down a file of reports beside his computer and glancing down at his watch. Frowning, he leaned back in his chair. He hadn't realised how much time had passed. He only had twenty minutes left before he'd need to set off with Alan and Fermat.

He couldn't believe how swiftly the summer had flown by. What with Alan's illness and Virgil's injuries, it had hardly been a relaxing experience for any of them. But Alan seemed happy enough about going back to school, so everything would be fine. And as long as his energetic teenage son managed to avoid disaster - which, Jeff mused, was highly unlikely - he was sure that it wouldn't be long before Alan was heading home again for Christmas.

Leaning forward on the arm of his chair, Jeff smiled at the photographs that stood shining in their frames on the right-hand side of the desk. His favourite, the one of his wife and sons, stood in the middle; the heart and soul of his empire. Reaching out, he lovingly traced a finger over his late wife's face, before doing the same to the tiny grinning features of four-year-old Alan.

_He's grown so much, Luce. I wish you could be here to help me raise him. To help me raise all of them. But I know you're watching over them. You're taking care of our boys. Our big, grown-up boys. Oh Lucy, I miss you so much. It's been nearly eleven years now since I lost you. And although the pain is no where near as intense as it once was, it's still there, festering away. But you always soothe it when it comes. You always find a way._

As though in response to his somber thoughts, there came a knock at the door. Jeff straightened up in his chair, reaching forward to straighten the pen-holder that always seemed to be falling over of its own accord.

"Come in!" he called cheerfully, glancing up as the door opened and his blond-haired son stepped into the room. Smiling warmly, Jeff pushed himself away from the desk, jumping to his feet and coming to stand beside his son.

"You all set?" he inquired, smiling warmly.

Alan nodded with an eagerness that Jeff had never seen before when it came to returning to school. He looked at his son for a long moment, drinking in the familiar features; the aqua-blue eyes that shone and laughed and danced as his mother's had always done; the spark of cunning and the glint of cheek that burned deep within the expressive orbs, reminding Jeff of the first time he met the love of his life. Yes, Alan was so much like is mother. Reaching out suddenly, Jeff pulled his youngest son into his chest, wrapping his arms about the shorter frame and sighing deeply.

"Things aren't gonna be the same around here once you're gone," he murmured, resting his chin atop his son's head.

Alan chuckled softly against his chest, his body relaxing into his father's. "Yeah, I know," he agreed tonelessly. "With Virgil getting better and John up in space, who are you gonna be able to fuss over when I'm gone?"

Jeff smiled, ruffling his son's hair playfully. "Exactly," he agreed. "Your old man's gonna miss you, sport."

Alan grinned, pulling away slightly and waggling his eyebrows. "Old man?" he repeated, his eyes sparkling cheekily.

At his father's frown, Alan grinned again and spun around on the spot. "Bye!"

Jeff smirked, aiming a playful swat at his retreating son's backside. Shaking his head he leaned against his desk and looked down at his hands. Years of working on cars, planes and circuitry panels had done surprisingly little to harden the skin. They still looked as young and fresh as ever.

"Old man?" he asked himself. "Yeah right."

* * *

Gordon hopped down from the luggage hatch in Tracy One, brushing his hands off on his shorts and stepping over to where Jeff, Alan and Fermat were saying their goodbyes. Usually, Brains would be going with them too, but a fault with one of the air units in Thunderbird 4's recycling systems had meant that he was needed at home. The problem had to be fixed as quickly as possible, just in case a call came in.

Alan, having said good by to Virgil and the Belegant family, was being hugged by Scott, who was trying and failing to make it look like a casual action. After a few moments, the eldest Tracy son stepped back and smiled, cuffing Alan around the head gently.

"Take care, Sprout," he said affectionately. "And call me once you've settled, okay?"

"Sure thing, commander," Alan replied, grinning cheekily. Then he turned to Andy, who gave him a warm one-armed hug, smiling kindly.

"Next time you decide to catch a life-threatening virus, please do yourself a favour and call me," he instructed. "I'm the best doctor around."

"Hey!" Thomas complained, poking Andy in the side as he came over to ruffle Alan's hair. "I think you'll find that _I'm _the winner of that particular competition."

Andy turned to look at him, raising an eyebrow. "Oh yeah?" he challenged. "Prove it."

Thomas smirked. "Listen carefully, junior," he stated. "There are three reasons why I'm the better doctor. One, I have more experience; two, I'm not a geek like you; and three, I'm just practically perfect in every way."

"Like a male version of Mary Poppins!" Jenny supplied cheerfully, pulling Alan towards her and giving him a motherly embrace. Tin-Tin giggled at the comment, and she and Jenny shared a triumphant look. Thomas pouted.

"I don't believe this," he muttered. "_Everybody's_ ganging up on me! What did I do to deserve this?!"

"You're male," Tin-Tin elaborated.

Before Thomas could reply to the comment, Gordon stepped up and grabbed onto his brother's arm, yanking him away from the group.

"Guys, if you don't leave soon you might as well not leave at all," he stated, pointing at his watch. Jeff smiled at him.

"Gordon's right, we need to go," he agreed. "Fermat, Alan? You boys ready?"

Fermat hugged his father one last time, before jogging over to Alan's side and nodding his head. "Yup!"

Jeff grinned. "Alrighty, then. Let's go!"

As the Tracy patriarch climbed up the steps into the jet, Gordon gave Fermat a one-armed hug. "Take care, Einstein," he said fondly. "And make sure you keep Blondie here outta trouble."

Fermat nodded, giving Gordon a high-five, before turning around and following Jeff into Tracy One. Gordon sighed, turning at last to look at Alan. He smiled slightly, fully noticing for the first time how much taller Alan seemed. The kid had grown at least an inch over the course of the summer. This wasn't a good thing as far as Gordon was concerned. He was taller than Virgil, true, but Virgil was naturally a midget. He didn't want to have Alan towering above him. But at the rate the teenager was growing, Gordon was certain that he would be at least John's height by the end of the year. The two Tracy's were the same build, and anatomically identical in so many ways, that it was only natural Alan would soon fill out roughly the same body shape as his older sibling.

"Well, g'bye, squirt," he smiled, pulling Alan into a headlock and giving him a gentle noogie. "Stay outta trouble, you hear? If you go pulling any awesome pranks without me and get into trouble for it, I will personally fly over to Wharton's and kick your ass. We clear?"

Alan grinned, saluting stiffly. "Yes, sir!"

Gordon smirked, turning Alan around and pushing him in the direction of the place. "See ya soon, Alison."

Alan glanced over his shoulder and stuck his tongue out at his copper-haired sibling, before jumping up the steps and into the hatch. Minutes later, the family and selected friends watched as the jet began to make its way out of the hanger and down the runway, picking up speed as it went. Standing at the hanger opening, Gordon shielded his eyes from the harsh glare of the afternoon sun, following the shining white aircraft as it took off into the endless blue skies, growing smaller and smaller as it moved away from the island.

A hand came to rest on Gordon's shoulder, and he did not need to turn around to see who it was. The fact that the figure was so darn _tall_ told him that it was Scott.

"Our little Thunderbird's growing up fast, huh?" Scott stated softly, watching the object in the distance as it grew fainter.

Gordon nodded his head in agreement, his gaze still fixed on the blue sky that stretched out before them.

"Yup, he sure is. We're monumentally screwed."

* * *

Leaning against the rail of the living-room balcony, Virgil stared out into the moonlit expanse of jungle that stretched out before him. The sound of nocturnal creatures and chattering insects filled the otherwise silent atmosphere with a never-ending chorus of gentle noises. Virgil smiled. Nature made the sweetest music.

He inhaled deeply, drinking in the rich, damp aromas of the tropical vegetation. The gentle wind blew against him, making the humid night deliciously cool and refreshing. Closing his eyes, he let out along sigh, running his fingers over the right-hand side of his ribcage. The bruises had all but faded now, and ever the puncture wounds were nothing more than red scabs on his skin. Plus, given another week or so, his cracked ribs would heal the rest of the way, and he would finally be reinstated as an active member of the team.

_Man, I can't wait for that. It's not like the guys have actually been on any rescues since Callingiri, but I'd hate it if I was stuck at home when a call went out. Andy and Tom are perfectly capable of handling things, but - well - I guess this is how Alan feels, huh? I just want to **be** there in case something were to happen. I hate feeling useless._

Thinking of Alan brought another smile to his face. It had been hard to say goodbye to the kid earlier that day. Over the past few weeks, Alan's antics had been one of the only things keeping Virgil from going stir crazy. Well - a combination of Alan and Gordon, to be precise. Whereas the rest of the inhabitants of the island, especially Scott and Andy, had been constantly checking up on him and making sure he was alright, Alan and Gordon had done their utmost best to keep him entertained. And they had certainly been successful. Not to mention the fact that Jenny, who had soon caught onto the teenagers' schemes, had actually come up with a number of the more imaginative ideas herself. Especially when the prank had involved doing something to Thomas.

Virgil sighed again, leaning forward and resting his arms on the rail, staring up at the paper-pale moon. The sky was clear tonight. Not a single cloud blotted out the stars, which sparkled brightly in the thick pool of inky blackness above him. If John were home, he wouldn't have been getting much sleep on this particular night. He would've been staying up until the early hours of the morning, observing his beloved stars through the telescope that Jeff had bought him for his tenth birthday, all those years ago.

"There you are. I've been looking for you all over the place."

Virgil did not even jump at the voice. He had been expecting his brother to speak at some point. After all, Scott _had_ been standing behind him for the last thirty seconds. He kept his gaze directed out in front of him, although he wasn't really looking at anything in particular. He sensed Scott move over to stand beside him, and saw his eldest brother lean forward against the railings out of the corner of his eye, adopting the same position as Virgil.

"It's late, Virge," he stated softly, standing close enough to his brother so that their elbows brushed against each other. "You okay?"

Virgil nodded, dropping his head to gaze at his arms in the moonlight. "I was just thinking," he replied quietly.

Scott grinned in the darkness. "Don't strain yourself," he deadpanned.

Virgil elbowed Scott in the arm playfully, returning the grin as he let out a long sigh. Scott's eyes sparkled in the dim light, and a comfortable silence fell between them. For a long while, both were content to merely gaze out into the night sky, admiring the star constellations which, after having lived with John for so many years, were all too familiar. Both Tracy's had spent many hours with the astronaut, indulging him in his passion and simply enjoying his cheerful company. For Virgil, John had always been the older brother in whom he could confide. There was something that John possessed that Scott did not, something that gave him the ability to be a counselor for the rest of his family. Virgil would never understand how his older brother's complex and unique mind functioned.

"You wanna talk about it?" Scott asked suddenly, his tone casual.

Virgil smiled. That was Scott for you, always hitting the nail right on the head. Whereas John somehow managed to get you to confess, seemingly without even talking about the subject itself, Scott preferred the more direct route. And to some extent, so did Virgil. It meant that he wouldn't accidentally let anything slip, as he often found himself doing when he was talking to John.

"It's nothing," he assured his older brother. "I was just thinking about Alan."

Scott looked sideways at him and smiled. "Missing the Sprout already?" he inquired. Then he sighed and dropped his head. "Yeah, me too."

Virgil let out a soft chuckle, closing his eyes again as the gentle wind blew against his face. "I was just thinking about something he said to me earlier," he stated.

"What?" Scott pressed, his curiosity peaking as the subject matter began to involve his youngest sibling.

"He was worried about being stuck at school when something like this happened to one of us again," Virgil said softly, wondering if perhaps it were wise to relay his baby brother's fears to his eldest sibling. After all, Scott had a bad habit of worrying excessively over Alan's welfare.

"Something like what?" Scott inquired, then paused. "Oh. Right."

"Don't worry, Scooter, he'll be fine," Virgil smiled, nudging his brother with his elbow again. "He felt that way after Spring break, remember? We all did, to a certain extent. But he was fine after a few days. He just needs a chance to settle back down into schoolwork."

Scott chewed his bottom lip, frowning slightly. Why hadn't he thought of this before? Of course Alan was going to have worries about going back to school after everything that had happened to both him and Virgil over the summer. He should have spoken to him before he left!

"Maybe I should call him," he stated thoughtfully, running a hand through his chocolate-brown hair.

Virgil rolled his eyes. "Oh yeah, great idea, Mr. Subtlety," he stated sarcastically. As Scott sent him a questioning look, he smiled softly. "Just give the kid some space, Scott. He'll be fine. And besides, he'll personally fly back here and kill me if he ever finds out that I told you. He hates it when you smother him; which, by the way, you have a bad habit of doing almost constantly."

"I do _not_!" Scott protested, then, upon seeing Virgil's amused glance, amended his statement. "Much."

Virgil grinned, shaking his head. "Look, if you're that worried why don't you ask John to talk to him about it? He'll be able to tell whether or not the kid's alright. And besides, he won't be half as blunt as you."

"I'm not blunt!" Scott protested again, before looking back out into the night sky. "At least not _all_ the time."

Virgil chuckled, and another short silence fell between them. Then Scott straightened up, reaching out to put a hand between Virgil's shoulder blades.

"C'mon, Virge, we should both be in bed. It's nearly three. Dad's gonna flip if we stay up much longer."

"Ooh, we can't have that," Virgil murmured, smiling as he pushed himself away from the railing and turned to face Scott.

Scott ruffled his hair, grinning as Virgil batted his hand away in mild annoyance. Then turning around, the eldest Tracy son looked up towards one of the brighter dots in the sky, lifting up an arm to wave half-heatedly at the focal point.

"G'night, Johnny!" he called.

Virgil laughed at his brother's antics, shaking his head. Scott could be as immature as Gordon on occasions.

"I don't think he quite heard you there, Scooter," he grinned. "Maybe you should shout a little louder."

Scott snorted in amusement, cuffing Virgil around the back of the head playfully. "What, and face Dad's wrath when I wake the whole house? No thanks, I think I'll pass on that one."

Virgil pouted in mock annoyance. "Spoil sport," he grumbled.

Scott grabbed him by the wrist, smiling, and began pulling him towards the open bay-window door.

"C'mon, Tinkerbell," he grinned. "Sleepy-time."

Virgil rolled his eyes again, pulling away from his brother's grasp. "In a sec," he assured the older Tracy. "I just wanna stay out here a little longer."

Scott sighed in resignation, holding up his hands in defeat. "Okay, have it your way," he stated. "But you'd better turn in soon, kiddo, or else there'll be hell to pay. I'll see you in the morning. 'Night!"

"G'night," Virgil replied, smiling as he turned around. Walking back over to the railing and leaning against it, he closed his eyes and listened to the soft footfalls as his brother walked back into the living room.

Then he was alone again, the chattering insects his only companions in the silence of the night. He closed his eyes once more, inhaling the aromas on the breeze as it wafted into his face. Happiness and content bubbled up inside of him, filling his chest with warmth. He stood like that for several minutes, basking in the feelings of total satisfaction. Oh yes, life was good.

At last, as he felt his eyelids begin to grow heavy, he rubbed a hand across his face and turned towards the house, stepping through the bay door and sliding it shut behind him. The living room was dimly lit, the moonlight from the bay windows and the yellow glow from the corridor illuminating the furniture to the extent that Virgil wouldn't have to worry about bumping into anything on his way out.

As he strode towards the door, past the raised platform where his piano was situated, he paused momentarily, turning to look at the object. The smooth black surface shone on the moonlight, the white keys standing out like a long row of glow-in-the-dark rectangles. Stepping up beside the instrument, he rested a hand atop the surface of the piano, leaning forwards to lower the black lid over the keys, being sure that it closed with nothing louder than a barely-audible '_thunk_'.

He smiled, running a hand over the smooth object and sighing. His piano was the closest link he had to his mother - other than his family, of course. All his fondest memories involing her incorporated the object; the piano lessons she had given him, the duets they had played, the dares he had made for her to play classical pieces blindfolded. It was almost as if, as he played the piano, he was with her again, sitting beside her on the old piano bench as they played chopsticks together, his small fingers dancing happily as he and his mother laughed at their play. And even now, over ten years after her death, he could still hear the jingle of her bracelet as she reached behind him to wrap her arm about his shoulder. He could smell the plate of fresh cookies that she had left on the table to cool, he could fell the weight of her gentle hand on the back of his neck as he played for her, his fingers running over the keys as though they had a life of their own.

Virgil smiled, looking down at his hands. They were bigger than they had been back then, more tanned, too. But they would always be the little hands that had learned to play under his mother's gentle tuition. Sighing, he lovingly traced the swirling golden design on the rim of the piano, his fingers following the loops as arcs as they rose and fell fluidly.

"G'night, Mom," he whispered softly, before dropping his hand and smiling again, that warm feeling of complete content filling his chest as it had done before.

As he exited the room and pulled the door closed, he cut off the yellow glow that had been the room's main light source, plunging it into darkness and casting shadows over all the objects in the room. All objects but the piano. Upon its raised platform, the shining black object reflected the ethereal moonlight that streamed in through the bay window, illuminating the instrument and basking it in a pure, natural glow. And in the light of that pale orb situated so high up in the night sky, the piano almost seemed to smile; mirroring the mood of its owners, both past and present.

Everything was as it should be.

_- THE END -_

* * *

**_Ta-daaa!_**

**_Thus ends my longest story so far (well, longest by one chapter). It has truly been a fun experience to write this story, and I've been both overwhelmed and overjoyed at the response it has received from its readers (love ya, guys!). Not only has it been worthwhile to have matured as an author since my first story ('Smothere By Your Brothers'), but it's also been great to have made so many wonderful friends along the way. And my friends know who they are, since they've gotten to know me on a more personal level, and they've each contributed towards the story in their own little ways (especially typo-pointers!)._**

**_Special thanks to...._**

**_My gran - Her constant assurance and support throughout my teenage years have helped to make me the person that I am today, and for that I will be forever grateful. This story is, in so many ways, eternally dedicated to her._**

**_criminally charmed- for everything, particularly the conversations we've shared. It's been great to get to know you, and you truly are a wonderful person. Thanks for being my unofficial beta; for pointing out all my flaws and mistakes and making me feel miserable about myself - Lol! Just kidding. I love your feedback. So...one last typo pointer, or did I manage to get everything right this time?_**

**_McHammy - for the awesome feedback and encouragement. You're a great person._**

**_Lissysue85 - for being a wonderful friend through these hard times. You rule, honey._**

**_Anonymous Reviewers- although I haven;t been able to thank you personally, I've always appreciated all the feedback, and I thank you for your support and helpful concrit. 'Pickled Onions' - I always love reading your comments, and thanks for making me smile._**

**_My Family - for being there, supportive and loving, through thick or thin.  
_**

**_Thanks again for all the encouragement! I'll see you in a couple of weeks with the first one-shot. But I warn you, it's truly bizarre!_**

**_Best wishes,_**

**_Little Miss Bump xoxoxoxox  
_**


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